I Love You, Professor
by The 1000th Kiss
Summary: Collins discovers a secret of a socially awkward, out-of-touch, genius student of his, and befriends the young boy. He grows more attached to his professor with each act of kindness he performs and Collins hopes his decision won't come back to haunt him.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all! New story time! This is something that just popped into my brain while I was writing something completely different, so here it is. Also, I want to inform my readers that I will be starting classes as a freshman in college on Monday and will be trying to update things when downtime is available. Not sure how hectic my schedule is going to be just yet. Just giving you guys a heads up.**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

"Okay, I know all of you are a bit more . . . laid back than you usually are because spring break is drawing near, but I still expect your essays to be turned inon the_ correct _due date," Thomas Collins told his class. "I'm sure you can focus for three more days. And for those of you who are thinking you can't, I have one question for you: how the hell did you get into college?" A few of his students chuckled, others smiled. Collins glanced at his watch. "Well, I won't keep you any longer than necessary. Class dismissed and _please _make an effort to get those essays to me. I don't want to have to fail anybody."

Collins walked back to his desk and sat down as his students began packing their things and filing out of the room. He closed the book that was open on his desk and sighed. The desk was a mess. Papers here, note cards there. He began looking through the papers, placing them in neat piles and blocking the world around him out in an attempt to organize his cluttered desk. He was starting to make progress when he heard someone clear their throat. Looking up from some papers, he nearly screamed. One of his students, a very thin and very pale boy, was standing right in front of his desk with a messenger bag on one shoulder.

"Professor," he said. His voice didn't have much bass in it, almost as if he hadn't gone through puberty yet. The sweater he was wearing made him look even thinner than he was.

"How can I help you, Connor?" Collins asked. Connor said nothing and opened his bag. He shifted through its contents before pulling a stapled document out of it. He slowly held it out to Collins, who took it just as slowly. "What is this?"

"It's my essay. I actually wrote it longhand while eating lunch on the day you assigned it and then typed it later. I was going to turn it in earlier, but I kept nitpicking at it, changing little things. I wanted it to be completely perfect for you." Collins raised an eyebrow. Connor scratched his arm and waited for his Professor to respond.

"You wrote this entire paper _longhand?" _Collins asked in shock.

"In cursive."

"_Cursive?"_

"Calligraphy actually. I took a course on it last summer because I wanted to handwrite my Christmas cards to make them more personal." Collins was at a loss for words. He knew Connor was a bit of an overachiever, but this was still taking him by surprise.

"Well . . . thank you for honoring my deadline."

"You're welcome, Professor." Connor smiled at Collins and left the room. Collins sat still for a moment before continuing to organize his desk.

* * *

><p>"I swear if you guys even <em>think <em>about moving the tables, I will have you thrown out!" These were the words spoken by the bohemians' favorite employee as they made their way into the Life Café. They ignored him, of course, and pushed three small tables together so they could all sit together.

"So, are you glad we talked you out of planning your lesson for tomorrow yet?" Maureen asked her best friend once they were all seated.

"No, Mo, I'm _not _glad," Collins replied. "This only means I'm gonna be up half the night."

"God, Collins, you work too much."

"Well, I have to make money to support me and my girl." Collins gave Angel a peck on the cheek and she smiled. Maureen rolled her eyes as Mark ordered seven glasses of wine for him and his friends.

"Honey, am I gonna have a boyfriend over spring break?" Angel asked. Collins furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you assigned an essay to your classes to be due the day spring break begins. Are you gonna be reading and grading essays for those two weeks or are we gonna get to spend some time alone together?"

"Baby, I'm way ahead of you on that. I'm also giving a test that day, so while my students are taking that test, I'll be grading their essays. Of course, I'll go back over them once spring break nears its end, but I'll have the majority of the grading done. In other words, I'm all yours, baby girl." Angel smiled and kissed Collins' lips.

When their drinks were brought to the table, they were soon laughing and arguing about which item on the menu was the best. Joanne noticed a scrawny boy staring in their direction. The boy was soon speaking with the employee that had threatened to have the bohemians thrown out.

"Hey, anybody know that kid over there?" she asked everyone. "He was looking over here." Angel, Collins, and Mark turned in their chairs to see who Joanne was talking about. Collins quickly recognized the boy as Connor. The employee then made his way over to them.

"You're going to have to put the tables back," he said sternly. "Others need places to sit."

"But we _need _these tables," Maureen replied.

"I don't care. I _told _you not to move them in the first place."

"Look, just have him come over here," Collins told the employee. "It's cool. I know him."

"I'm not going to do that."

"We need these tables so we can sit together and he needs a place to sit. We've got an extra place. All he has to do is take it." Collins waved at his student. "Connor! Come on over!" Connor looked to Collins and pointed at himself, unsure if Collins was talking to him. He slowly walked toward the bohemians' table after Collins nodded. The employee stormed away from them. Mark found an unused chair and put it next to Collins as Connor approached the table.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to sit with you and your friends, Professor?" Connor asked. "I don't want to impose or anything."

"No, no, it's completely fine," Collins replied. "Right guys?" Everyone answered positively and Connor sat down as a waiter came to the table.

"Your meals will be ready shortly," he said. He then noticed Connor. "Did you just get here?"

"Yes he did," Angel answered.

"Well, I'll go get you a menu."

"That's not necessary," Connor assured the waiter. "I memorized the menu the last time I was here." The bohemians and the waiter stared at Connor.

"Okay . . . what would you like?"

"I'll have a veggie burger with a side of fries and a lemonade, please." The waiter nodded and walked away. It was quiet for a moment.

"So, you're one of Collins' students," Joanne commented. Connor nodded as he took his jacket off. "Freshman?"

"Grad student," Connor corrected. Joanne's eyes widened and everyone, save Collins, stared at Connor in disbelief. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It's just . . . you look way too _young _to be a grad student," Mark said.

"As far as statistics go, I _am_ a bit young to be a grad student. I'm eighteen."

"No, you're not!" Maureen exclaimed. "You _can't _be! I don't believe it!"

"Believe it, Mo," Collins told her. "Connor here graduated high school when he was twelve and college at sixteen."

"I'm in the process of gaining PhDs in psychology, sociology, and philosophy," Connor added.

"You're just so . . . _young," _Joanne said.

"I know. That usually proves to be my downfall. Most of the students aren't too thrilled to have someone with my knowledge at my age in their class."

"Are you smarter than Collins?" Mimi asked. "What's your IQ?"

"One hundred eight-six." Everyone, save Connor, looked at Collins expectantly.

"Mine's one seventy-two," he said. His friends' mouths dropped open. "Don't look at me like that."

"We've never met anybody who was smarter than you," Mark pointed out.

"I may have a higher IQ than Professor Collins, but there's no way I'm smarter than him," Connor stated. "He has more life experience than I do and there have been times where he's been two steps ahead of me whenever I had a question in his class. He's easily the smartest person I've ever met. And his theories are just . . . brilliant."

"More like boring," Roger commented.

"You've heard some of my theories?" Collins asked, ignoring the rocker.

"Yes. Your theory on actual reality is so well worded and thought out. I heard you telling people about it in a subway station one day and was completely engrossed by your words. I felt like a child hearing a new bedtime story."

"Well, that theory got me kicked out of MIT."

"They just didn't understand your genius."

"Somebody, _please _stop the nerds!" Mimi shouted dramatically, covering her ears. Roger laughed as Mimi reached for her drink.

"Are you twenty-one?" Connor asked her. "You don't look twenty-one."

"I'm nineteen."

"Then why are you drinking alcohol?" He turned to Collins. "She shouldn't be drinking alcohol, should she?"

"It's fine, Connor," Collins told him.

"It's not fine. She's breaking the law and you're letting her. How do you associate yourself with these people?" Everyone looked at the eighteen-year-old. His eyes were wide and he appeared to be in a trance. "Laws are made to protect us. Without them, there's nothing but complete chaos. You _have _to follow the law. If you break the law, you _will _be punished. If you _help _someone break the law, you _will _be punished. If you witness someone break the law and keep quiet about it, you _will _be punished."

"What's wrong with him?" Angel asked Collins. He shrugged as Connor started trembling.

"I'm sorry . . ." he whispered to no one in particular. "I didn't mean to . . . I won't disobey you anymore. I promise I'll be good . . . but only if you say you love me . . . say it . . ."

"Connor?" Collins said. He touched the boy's shoulder, causing him to jump. He quickly looked around and noticed he was receiving odd looks from everyone at the table. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Connor answered. He looked down at his hands to avoid making eye contact with anyone. "Will you all excuse me for a moment?" He got up from the table and quickly made his way to the restrooms.

"What the hell was that about?" Mimi asked.

"I have no idea," Collins replied. He stared in the direction Connor went in for a while. He then stood up and walked to the men's restroom where he found Connor sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Professor . . . please don't ask," he said. Collins walked to Connor and sat next to him.

"I won't," he promised. "But know that if you _ever _need someone to talk to, I'll be there to listen. Whatever you say in confidence to me will be between us." Connor looked to Collins, who offered a warm smile. The boy smiled back at him.

"Thank you, Professor."

**Review please.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the next chapter. Enjoy.**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few Ocs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

"Two days," Collins said to his class. "Two days until the deadline and I have received one essay." He looked around at his students. They were all either looking around the room or at the clock on the wall above Collins' head. "Don't do this to me, people. I'm not afraid to fail ninety-nine percent of the class."

"Who turned their paper already?" a female student asked. Collins looked to Connor, who was diligently writing in a notebook. He was wearing sunglasses, which was an odd fashion choice for him, and refused to look anywhere else besides at the words he was writing.

"That's not important," Collins answered. "What _is _important is this: consider me reminding you that you have two days to turn in your essays my final warning. I won't be begging for them anymore. If you turn them in, you do. If you don't, you don't. Class dismissed."

The students moved a bit faster than normal while packing up and leaving, including Connor. He had always liked to prolong his time in Collins' classroom by moving as slowly as possible, but still leaving the room with enough time to get to his next class. Collins noticed Connor trying to blend in with the mass of people hurriedly shuffling toward the door. Someone bumped into him, causing the boy's sunglasses to fall off and land at Collins' feet. He picked them up before Connor even had time to think about it. The eighteen-year-old kept his head down as Collins held his glasses out to him.

"Th-Thank you," he said, glancing up at his professor. Collins noticed Connor's eye seemed discolored and pulled the sunglasses away just as he was reaching for them.

"What happened to your eye?" he asked.

"Nothing, Professor." The boy kept his head down.

"Don't lie to me." Collins' voice was stern yet concerned. Connor was silent. Collins tried and failed to lift his head. "Connor, look at me."

"I don't want to," Connor said timidly.

"Look at me." The eighteen-year-old hesitated before bringing his attention to Collins. The professor saw that Connor had a black eye and slight bruising on the side of his face.

"Can I have my glasses back now?" Connor asked. Collins slowly held the sunglasses out to him. He took them and turned to leave, but Collins grabbed his arm. "Professor, let go of me."

"Not until I know what happened to you," Collins replied.

"Professor Keaton will be angry if I show up late to his class."

"I'll talk to him. Tell me what happened." Connor fell silent. "Talk to me. Whatever you say to me will _stay _between us, you know that. Just tell me what happened and I'll try to help you." Connor looked down at his shoes and Collins waited patiently for him to say something.

"He was going to hit her," he said softly, looking up at Collins again. "I had to stop him."

"Who was going to be hit?"

"My mother."

"And your father was the person that was going to hit her?" Connor simply nodded.

"She was going to say it. She was finally going to say it . . . and he was going to punish her for it. I only wanted to hear it one time . . . just once."

"What was she going to say?" Connor suddenly went into the trance-like state he was in at the Life Café.

"Don't feel bad," he whispered. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have tried to make you say it." Collins couldn't help noticing that Connor seemed to be looking right through him.

"What was your mother going to say Connor?" the professor pressed.

"I'll just say it to you. Do you care if I say it? I know _he _does, but do _you?" _Connor's eyes shifted as if he was making sure someone wasn't around. "I'll have to say it quietly, but I _will _say it if you want me to."

"Connor, you're not making any sense. Snap out of it!" Connor flinched and blinked a few times. He stared at Collins for a moment.

"'I love you,'" he said. Collins' eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

"That's what my mother was going to say. It would've been the very first time."

"You're kidding, right?" Connor shook his head. "She's never said she loves you? Even when you were a baby?"

"My biological mother said it once, but that was when I was two and she was leaving me at an orphanage. I was adopted a year later." Collins gave an understanding nod. "I tried everything I could think of to make at least one of my adoptive parents say that they love me, but nothing worked. Now my only option is begging."

"Your mother wanted to tell you that she loves you, but your father wouldn't let her? Why not?"

"He says sappy displays of affection like that are what . . . turned me into a fag." The volume of Connor's voice dropped on the last word and he looked like he was about to cry as it escaped his lips. "He calls me that at least five times a day. He's the reason I've been hiding my sexuality from the other people."

"I know the pain that word can cause, but don't let it stop you from being who you are," Collins told the boy. "If you're true to yourself, people will warm up to you."

"If they don't like me _now_, what makes you think they'll like me after I tell them I'm gay? They'll probably just beat me up. And beating me up won't be hard at all. It's not like I have someone to protect or . . . love me. No one will care."

"_I _will. I'll care and I'll protect you."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not. It's the truth. I _will _protect you. You have my number, so all you have to do is call."

"I thought you said you only gave us your number for when we have questions about assignments or lectures, not personal calls. You made it a rule."

"Consider yourself an exception."

"Don't pity me, Professor."

"It's not pity, it's empathy. I was a little like you at your age." Connor looked at his shoes.

"But it's your rule," he said.

"You can protest all you want about the rules and how they should be followed, but I know one day things are going to get harder and you're going to need someone to help you through it," Collins replied. He then put his hand under Connor's chin and lifted his head. "When that day comes, remember this talk." Collins brought his hand back down to his side.

"You're being completely honest, right? You won't just hang up on me if I call?"

"I'm here for you, Connor." Collins put an arm around Connor as he put his sunglasses back on. "Come on, I'll walk you to your class, so you won't get yelled at."

The eighteen-year-old smiled and let his professor lead him out of the room.

**Review please**


	3. Chapter 3

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins sat on the couch in the living room of the apartment he shared with Angel. A pair of reading glasses rested on his nose as he read Connor's essay. He loved grading any assignment the young graduate student handed in. His red pen was never necessary. All he was really doing was reading the paper, occasionally smiling when he read something that made reference to what he had said during class. Sometimes, Connor put little jokes in his assignments that he was sure no one would understand except Collins.

"Honey, you're smiling," Angel pointed out, emerging from the kitchen with two bottles of water in her hands. Collins looked up at her as she held one of the bottles out to him. "What are you reading?"

"I'm grading an essay," Collins replied, taking the bottle and placing it next to his capped red pen on the coffee table. Angel's eyes widened. "What?"

"I've never seen you smile while grading essays." The drag queen plopped down next to the professor. "You're always frowning and you have this really mean look in your eyes. Like you just want to kill whoever wrote it."

"Well, this is one student who knows what my expectations are and goes above and beyond the call of duty to exceed them."

"That Connor kid?" Collins nodded as he turned his attention back to the essay in his hand. "How come smart people don't have normal lives?"

"Well, now I'm insulted."

"Honey, you know I wasn't talking about _you. _And you're not as young as Connor."

"I'm not _that _old."

"I know that! But Connor's eighteen. He should out living life. I get the feeling all he does is sit by himself somewhere and study regardless if he has homework or not."

"Books _are _his only friends." Collins flipped the page of the essay. "Did you know his parents have never told him that they love him?"

"You're kidding!"

"No, he told me after class when I asked him about his black eye. His mother was going to say it last night, but his father didn't want her to."

"Why did he have a black eye?"

"His father was going to hit his mother for trying to say she loved him. I guess he got in the middle of it and took the hit for her."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't think I do. I mean, the 'I love you' thing _could _be true, but I thought about it, and I've come to the conclusion that Connor may have made up the part of his story about trying to protect his mother to hide the fact that he's being abused."

"By his father?"

"Definitely. I'm not sure about his mother though."

"You think she's abusing him, too?"

"All I'm saying is: what kind of mother stands by and watches her husband beat her child?" Angel nodded in agreement. There was suddenly a soft knock at the door. The lovers exchanged looks and Collins took his glasses off. He placed them and Connor's essay on the coffee table and stood up. Angel watched as he walked to the door, turned the knob, and slowly opened it. They were both shocked to see Connor on the other side.

The boy had his arms wrapped around himself and his head down. The sweater he was wearing was torn in places.

"Connor?" Collins said. His student looked up at him and he saw that his nose and mouth were bleeding. They stared at each other for a long moment before Connor burst into tears. Collins gently took hold of one of Connor's arms and pulled him into the apartment. He then shut the door, wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and led him to the couch.

"What happened to him?" Angel asked.

"I don't know," Collins told her. She watched as Collins helped Connor, who was limping, sit down on the couch.

"I'll be right back." Angel quickly left the room. Collins kept his arm around Connor as they sat on the couch in silence. The boy's tears slowed up after a while.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to just . . . show up at your home, but I . . . I didn't know where else to go."

"It's fine, it's fine," Collins assured him, taking his arm from around his shoulders. "Connor, what happened to you?"

"You know how I got the black eye."

"I'm talking about everything else. The bleeding mouth and nose, the ripped sweater, the limp."

"I'm pretty sure there's bruising underneathmy sweater."

"What happened?"

"I broke a rule."

"What is with you and rules?"

"Rules have to be followed at all times. There are no exceptions. And if a person breaks one, they have to be punished. That's how things go. I learned that at a very young age."

"From who?"

"I think you mean 'whom,' Professor."

"Who told you that, Connor?"

"My parents. Well . . . my father mostly."

"Is he the person who did this to you?"

"It's justifiable."

"No, it isn't. Everyone is bound to break at least _one _rule in their life and abuse is _not _the way to right a wrong. Your father needs to know that."

"Professor, my father isn't-"

"Connor, I can tell something is going on," Collins interrupted. "You don't like to be close to anyone, you never speak unless someone is talking directly to you, you avoid eye contact with other people like it's the plague."

"Maybe I just have social anxiety disorder."

"You also have unexplained injuries that keep popping up one right after another."

"It's just a black eye and I already told you how that happened."

"Your black eye isn't the only thing I've noticed. Just last week, I saw finger-sized bruises around your neck that you _thought _were hidden beneath the collar of the turtleneck you were wearing. Like someone had been choking you." Connor refused to look at Collins. "A few days later, it seemed like you couldn't think straight. That points to some form of head injury to me."

"I'm accident prone."

"How the hell do you _accidentally choke _yourself?" Connor began trembling. "Connor . . . is your father beating you?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me about this, Connor. I can help you, but you have to tell me the truth."

"I _am _telling you the truth." Connor looked at Collins. "My father is _not _beating me . . . my mother is." Collins' eyes widened.

"What?"

"I lied to you, Professor. It was my father who wanted to tell me he loved me, not my mother."

"Your _mother _is the abusive one?"

"Yes."

"Why would you purposely make me think your father is the one who's prone to violence?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's because when I think of a mother, I think of someone who's caring and nurturing. I thought if I made myself believe she wasn't hurting me . . . it would be true." Connor shifted on the couch. "My father was going to tell me about my mother. My _real _mother."

"And your adoptive mother didn't want that to happen?" Collins guessed.

"Right. She doesn't want me to know about her for some reason. My father was going to tell me all about her and give me an address so I could go see her, but . . . just before he could . . . my mother came into the room." A tear ran down Connor's cheek. "She was absolutely _furious. _My father tried to protect me, but she threatened him if he didn't get out of her way."

"Couldn't he fight her off if he needed to?"

"She's terrifying and unstoppable when she's angry. And _never _asking about my biological mother is her most important rule. I'm surprised I was able to get out of there with as little injury as I did." Angel then returned to the living room carrying a damp washcloth. She sat on the couch next to Connor.

"Do you mind if I clean the blood off of you, sweetie?" she asked. Connor shook his head. He then noticed his essay on the table.

"You were grading my essay, Professor?" he asked.

"Yes," Collins replied. "I was just finishing right before you knocked. It's very well-written and simply genius, as always. Although, I'm a little disappointed that there was no joke this time."

"Oh, I've got one right now." Connor cleared his throat. "How many existentialists does it take to change a lightbulb?" Angel gave Collins a confused look.

"How many?"

"Two. One to change the lightbulb and one to observe how the lightbulb symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness." Connor smiled and Collins chuckled. Angel just sat there with a blank look on her face.

"Clever," Collins said. Connor turned his attention to Angel.

"I take it you didn't find my joke funny, did you, Miss Schunard?" he asked her.

"No, honey, I just didn't understand it," she replied.

"Oh."

"Keep your head turned to me." Collins watched as his lover gently wiped the blood from Connor's mouth and nose. "Who did this to you?"

"His mother," Collins said.

"His _mother? _Not his father?" Collins shook his head as Angel placed the washcloth on the table and began examining Connor's black eye. "My God. How long has this been happening?"

"Fifteen years, six months, eight days, five hours, eleven minutes, and fourteen seconds," Connor answered.

"Well . . . that was oddly specific."

"My brain automatically breaks time down like that. I have an eidetic memory, so I can't really stop it."

"Eidetic memory? Is that like a photographic memory?"

"Sort of." Connor looked to Collins. He seemed to be deep in thought. Without warning, he got up from the couch and started to leave the room.

"Where are you going, honey?" Angel asked.

"I'm going to call Joanne," Collins replied. "She'll know what legal action to take in this situation better than we will."

"'Legal action?'" Connor repeated. He stood up and immediately had to grab hold of the arm of the couch to keep his balance.

"You okay, honey?" Angel asked, standing and letting the boy hold on to her arm.

"I'm fine." Connor took a small step toward Collins. "Professor, you . . . you _can't _take legal action against my mother."

"I'm not going to do nothing now that I know what she's doing to you," Collins said sternly. "The police _need _to be involved in this. They can help you."

"You _can't _tell the police, Professor. _You're _not even supposed to know."

"I'm calling Joanne and then I'm going to the police."

"I'll deny everything." Collins ran a hand over his face. "Please, Professor, don't do this. She'll-"

"She won't be able to hurt you once she's in police custody," Collins interrupted. Connor looked like he was going to cry at any moment. The professor walked to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you, okay? I promise. You can trust me."

"Honey, when Collins makes a promise, he doesn't break it," Angel commented. Collins gently pulled Connor into a hug. The eighteen-year-old hesitated before returning it. He felt safe in Collins' arms. The hug presented a sense of security that he had never known. It made him feel as though he had nothing to fear. It made him feel protected.

"You'll really keep me safe?" Connor asked.

"You have my word," Collins told him, holding him tighter. Connor smiled and silently hoped he could stay in his professor's arms forever.

**Review please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Next chapter. One reviewer has been paying attention and sort of knows where this story is going. You know who you are. This chapter is to confirm your hypothesis and to bring two reviewers' worst fears to life. I am so evil.**

**I own nothing but a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

While waiting for Joanne to arrive, Angel made grilled cheese sandwiches. She got lucky that she was able to find the fixings for the sandwiches since there wasn't much to eat in the apartment and she was dealing with two vegetarians. As Angel cooked, Collins and Connor had an in depth conversation about philosophy, which was turned into a conversation about love by the younger of the two. The boy was generally interested in the subject. He almost seemed like a robot learning human emotions. Collins felt bad for his student. There was a knock at the door just as Angel brought the sandwiches into the living room. She placed the plate with the three sandwiches on it down on the coffee table and went to open the door.

"Sorry it took me so long," Joanne said as she entered the apartment. She was holding a briefcase in one hand and Maureen's hand was in her other hand. "I had Maureen come with me because my car is being repaired and I don't like being in cabs by myself."

"Statistically, Americans spend 18 percent of their income on transportation and only 13 percent on food," Connor stated. The four others stared at him and he turned his attention to the plate of sandwiches.

"That's really interesting," Maureen told him. She looked to Joanne. "And don't lie, Pookie. You only asked me to come along because it gets dark earlier now and you're afraid of the dark."

"I didn't lie and that's a very rational fear," Joanne replied.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"Actually, she's right," Connor said. "Fear of darkness is a common fear among most people. Our minds often associate darkness with the unknown, which is something propaganda that has anything to do with the genre known as horror has taught us to fear whether it's intentional or not. Fear of darkness doesn't always deal with the unknown though, it can also have something to do with a bad memory or just the inherent absence of light."

There was a silence as Connor received stares from everyone again. He slowly reached for a sandwich. He took a bite and waited for someone to say something.

"Oh my God," Maureen said, dropping Joanne's hand. "You are _so _adorable! Say more words!"

"I'm confused," Connor replied. "How exactly am I adorable?"

"Every word that comes out of your mouth makes you even _more_ adorable!"

"I'm adorable when I speak?"

"Yes! How the hell can anybody even _think _about hurting someone like you?" Connor looked to Collins, who chuckled at the look of confusion on his face.

"Maureen thinks _everything _is adorable," he explained. "If you were a little younger, she would probably be squealing right now."

"I swear, if you look up 'adorable' in the dictionary, his name would be the definition!" Maureen continued.

"Actually, the definition of 'adorable' is-"

"Sweetie, she was just complimenting you," Angel told Connor before he could finish his sentence. Connor nodded as Joanne made her way to the couch. She sat down next to Connor, took a legal pad and pen out of her briefcase, and placed the briefcase down by her feet. The eighteen-year-old immediately looked down at the sandwich he was eating.

"Connor, do you know why I'm here?" she asked.

"Yes," Connor answered quietly.

"So, you're aware that you'll have to talk to me? Tell me some things that may be hard for you talk about?"

"I don't want to . . . but I know I have to."

"Why don't you want to?" Connor was silent. "Is it because you don't want your mother to go to jail? It's completely understandable if-"

"That's not it," Connor interrupted. Joanne waited patiently for him to give an explanation. "I . . . I don't want to think about what she's done . . . and let be done to me."

"What does that mean?" Connor put the sandwich back on the plate and wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. He then placed his hands in his lap and kept his attention on them.

"Connor, you need to explain what you just said," Collins told the boy. Connor shook his head.

"I don't want to remember," he said softly. "I want to forget . . . I just want to forget. I know it's not likely with my memory, but I . . . I just don't want to remember."

"Talking about it helps." Collins took Connor's hand in his. The student looked at their hands and thought back to the hug he'd received not too long ago. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"I . . . came out to my parents when I was twelve," he began.

"How did they react?" Joanne asked.

"They were shocked. I don't think they wanted to believe it. My father learned pretty quickly that he wasn't going to be able to change me, but my mother . . . she just wouldn't give up. She had already been beating me for nine years, so I was used to _that."_

"Did her violence increase at all?"

"Tenfold. The beatings were more often and more severe." Connor looked down at his shoes. "One day, I came home from school and she was waiting for me at the front door." The boy paused.

"What did she do when you got into the house?" Connor opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it. "Connor, what did she do?"

"She . . . made me put on a dress . . . and a wig. Then she put makeup on me, took me to her room, and left me there."

"Was she trying to humiliate you?"

"I wish."

"So she did something else?"

"No . . . but _he _did."

"Who's 'he?'"

"The man she brought up to the room." Angel and Maureen gasped. Collins closed his eyes and put his head down. He didn't need to hear anything else to know what Connor was trying to say.

"Connor, the fact that you have an eidetic memory has nothing to do with why you can't forget that," Collins said. "Even if you _didn't _have an eidetic memory, you would still remember that clearly. You actually made that point in one of your essays."

"'The human mind will most likely recall the death of a family member better than what a person had for lunch on Tuesday,'" Connor recited.

"Exactly. You remember it because it was an extremely traumatic experience."

"Well . . . can someone help me? How do I forget it?"

"You don't forget it, Connor. You learn to deal with it and eventually move on. You learn how to live even though that memory will most likely always be somewhere in that big brain of yours." Connor brought his attention to Collins.

"Do you think that's why I study all the time?" he asked. "Because I'm trying to push that memory out of my mind?"

"It's a possibility."

Connor spent a little over an hour telling Joanne about the current and past injuries he'd suffered at the hands of his mother. Collins continued to hold his hand while he spoke. Knowing that his professor cared for him made talking about the abuse slightly easier for Connor. He was grateful that Collins was as kind as he was. He had never seen himself as someone other people would concern themselves with even if he was able to muster up the courage to talk about what he was going through on a daily basis. The boy had always had a high level of respect for his professor, but now he had the same level of trust in him. He could tell Collins would never hurt him.

Once Maureen and Joanne left, it was decided that Connor would stay with Angel and Collins for the night. Angel took the empty plate into the kitchen and placed it in the sink while Collins went to search for extra blankets. Upon reentering the living room, Angel noticed Connor seemed a bit on edge.

"You okay, Connor?" she asked. Connor looked up at her and nodded. "You sure about that?"

"I'm just . . . nervous," the eighteen-year-old confessed. "I don't really know what to expect out of all this."

"Sweetie, everything will be fine. Collins wouldn't have called Joanne if he knew it was going to put you in danger." Connor nodded and dropped his attention to the floor.

"Miss Schunard-"

"Call me Angel," Angel interrupted.

"Angel . . . I have a question."

"What is it?"

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you and Professor Collins meet?"

"Oh, I don't mind you asking that at all." Angel sat down next to Connor. "It was Christmas Eve and Collins was coming home from MIT. When he got to his old home, three men chased him into an alley where they mugged him. They just left him there."

"Professor Collins was mugged? How? He seems like he would be able to defend himself fairly easily."

"He was outnumbered." Connor nodded and waited for Angel to continue. "It just so happens that I like to drum across the street from the alley those men left him in and I heard him coughing. I walked down the alley, found him, brought him back here, cleaned him up, and . . . the rest is history."

"Did he fall in love with you at first sight?"

"No. And for a while I think he was only in love with the fact that I saved his life. That's not true anymore, of course."

"You saved his life . . . and he fell in love with you?" Angel nodded. "Do you think something like that could happen with anyone else?"

"I suppose it could. Do you have your eye on someone special?" Angel was smiling at Connor, but he didn't notice. Collins returned to the living room then. He was carrying a sheet, a blanket, and a small pillow.

"This is all I could find," he told Connor, putting the blankets down on the coffee table. "I hope you don't mind."

"It's fine," Connor replied. He thought for a moment before standing. "Thank you for letting me stay here." He stepped closer to Collins and wrapped his arms around his middle. Though the hug was awkwardly initiated, Collins returned it. As he involuntarily rubbed Connor's back, the boy closed his eyes and gave a content sigh.

_Yes, Angel, _he thought. _I __do__ have my eye on someone special._

**Yep.**

**Review please**


	5. Chapter 5

**I own nothing but a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

"I'm impressed with all of you," Collins told his students. "You managed to pay attention to my entire lecture and you took notes. That makes me happy. This is a good day."

"You kinda scared the crap out of us yesterday," a male student commented. Collins raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Sensing that the professor wanted an explanation, the student continued. "Whenever you're mad about something, you get sort of . . . calm. Like you're trying to force yourself not to yell."

"And what do you think made me mad, Trevor?" Collins asked. A few of the other students looked at Trevor, their eyes begging him not to mention what had angered their professor.

"Our . . . our essays." A few students looked down at their notebooks. "We'll all have them by tomorrow, Professor, don't worry."

"I'm not worried. It's not _my _grade." Collins looked around the room. Every student he looked at avoided eye contact with him. He stared at Connor for a moment. The eighteen-year-old had his head propped up on his hand and seemed to be staring straight ahead. He was wearing his sunglasses, so Collins couldn't tell if he was looking at him or not.

"You don't believe we'll have them, do you, Professor?" a female student asked.

"I didn't say that," Collins replied.

"So you _do _believe it?"

"I didn't say that either. Don't forget you have a test tomorrow. Class dismissed." His students packed up and left the room at a medium pace. He watched several of them place documents, which he assumed to be their essays, on his desk as they made their way to the door.

"See you tomorrow, Professor," a random student said. Collins smiled in the direction the voice came from. He then noticed Connor was still sitting. Once the rest of the students were gone, he walked over to the boy.

"Connor?" he said. Connor didn't move as the professor slowly removed his sunglasses. The boy was asleep. "Connor!" The volume of Collins' voice caused Connor to jolt awake. He blinked a few times before looking up at Collins.

"Professor Collins . . ." he said.

"Why are you sleeping in my class? Did I bore you today?"

"No! No, you could _never _bore me."

"Then why were you asleep? And how much of my lecture did you miss?" Connor thought for a moment before opening his notebook and flipping through several pages. "Here's an easier question: what was the last thing you heard me say?"

"You were telling the class how impressed you were that everyone was paying attention. After that, I'm not sure what you said."

"That means you were only asleep for two minutes or so, but why?" Connor looked back down at his notebook.

"I didn't get much sleep last night." His voice was soft. "I guess . . . talking about what happened . . . brought the nightmares back."

"'Nightmares?'"

"About that man . . . about what he did to me." Tears filled Connor's eyes and he tried to blink them away. Collins sat in the empty seat next to him. "Maybe it wouldn't have happened if . . . I wasn't-"

"Connor, we talked about this," Collins interrupted, putting the boy's sunglasses down in front of him. "What happened to you is_ not _your fault."

"I know . . . I know it's not, but . . . for the first time, I'm actually thinking about the situation clearly. I actually _realize _what I went through . . . the humiliation . . . the pain . . . and my mother just . . . let it happen . . ."

"I know it's not what you want to hear, but your mother is a terrible human being for letting that man do what he did. You didn't deserve it."

"Then . . . why do I feel like I did?"

"Because your mother _made _you feel that way. Especially after she outright _told _you that you deserved it." Collins placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Connor, you deserve to be treated _so much better _than that. You deserve to be loved." Connor looked at Collins and smiled.

"Thank you, Professor," he said. Collins patted him on the back and stood up.

"Now, I want you to go back to my apartment and try to get some rest."

"Professor, I . . . I can't do that."

"I'll cover for you. You can't function without the proper amount of sleep. I'll call and tell Angel you're coming." Connor nodded and began gathering his things as Collins made his way to his desk. The eighteen-year-old picked up his sunglasses and put them in his messenger bag.

"Professor?" Connor said just as Collins was about to pick up the receiver of the phone on his desk. The professor turned to face the boy as he walked toward the desk. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How do you know . . . if you're in love?" Collins smiled at his student.

"Are you asking because you're curious or because you think you may be in love with someone?" Connor blushed slightly.

"I . . . I have feelings for someone, but I'd like to decipher whether it's love or just a crush."

"How do you feel about this person?"

"Well . . . I'd like to spend every minute of every day with him. He's very kindhearted and definitely not as shy as I am."

"Older or younger?"

"Older, but only by a few years. I'd really like to be with him." Collins nodded and Connor stared at him. "What do you think I should do?"

"I know you're shy, but you could try being spontaneous."

"'Spontaneous?'"

"Yes, do something to make this guy notice you. Strike up a conversation. Ask questions to get to know him better. Things like that."

"Okay." Collins reached for the phone receiver again. "Um, Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Would you ever date someone who was as smart as you are?" Collins' eyes narrowed, causing Connor to look to the floor. The professor took a few steps toward his student.

"Why would ask me that?" he asked. "Are you insulting Angel?"

"No," Connor answered timidly. "I was just wondering."

"Angel may not have a genius IQ, but she is _very _intelligent."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . sound like I insulted her. I was only asking a question." Connor kept his attention on the floor. "I . . . have another question."

"As long as you're not insulting the love of my life, go ahead."

Connor took a deep breath. After he had realized he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep the previous night, he thought of scenarios in which he could ask this particular question. Steering the conversation to the subject of love was the easy part. Now, he had to ask the all-too-important question that had been nagging him constantly since the day he first sat down in Collins' class. He figured the best way to do so was randomly, spontaneously.

"Where do you stand on . . . relationships between students and teachers?" he asked. He glanced up at Collins to see what kind of expression was on his face. The professor's eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Connor, _please _tell me you don't have feelings for one of your professors," he said.

"I . . . do." Connor looked up at him. His eyes were open and his hands were on his hips. The boy stepped closer to Collins and, without giving it a second thought, pressed his lips to his professor's. He was pushed away within two seconds.

"No." Collins eyes were wide as he slowly backed away from Connor. "No, no, no! This _cannot _happen!" Collins practically ran to the door and closed it.

"Professor-"

"It's _completely _inappropriate and . . . I can't even _think _of another way to describe it!" Collins interrupted as he walked back to his desk. "What the hell is wrong with you? I am your professor _and _I'm in a relationship!"

"I know . . ."

"You just kissed me, Connor! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I . . . I love you, Professor." Collins' mouth dropped open. "I've been in love with you for a _really _long time. I just didn't know how to tell you."

"Oh my God."

"When you hugged me last night, my heart soared. I wanted to stay in your arms."

"Please, stop."

"I wanted you to hold me, Professor."

"I'm begging you."

"I wanted you to hold me and tell me everything will be okay."

"Connor-"

"You're the only person in the world who's shown me even the slightest bit of kindness and I don't want that to stop."

"Connor, please-"

"I want to be with you, Professor. I love you."

"Stop it! Just stop!" Collins ran a hand over his face. "Connor, I'm going to be straight with you. I don't love you. Okay? My heart belongs with Angel and it's going to _stay _with Angel. It doesn't matter what you say or do, I will _always _belong to Angel. I understand if you're a little attracted to me because I'm helping you, but-"

"That's not it at all," Connor interrupted. "I love you for you, not because of what you're doing for me. From the very first day of class, I've wanted to know more about you. You smiled at me that day. And I think about your smile every night before I go to bed because it gives me something to look forward to the next day. Professor . . . you're the reason I haven't committed suicide."

"Please don't say that," Collins begged.

"It's true. There are days where I feel like I just can't take the abuse and neglect anymore, but then I think of you and . . . those feelings go away." Connor looked at his shoes. "I'll . . . find somewhere else to stay for a while."

"Connor, you can still stay with me and Angel, but this has to stop and you _have _to realize that we will_ never_ be together."

"I can't just turn my feelings for you off, Professor." Collins sighed heavily.

"Just . . . go back to the apartment. We'll talk more about this later." Connor started to say something more, but decided against it. As he left the room, Collins stared after him. He waited a few moments after Connor was gone before picking up the phone receiver.

**Review please**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is the chapter where ALL the suspense starts. You have been forewarned.**

**I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins sat on the subway and tried to read some of the essays that were turned in. He could barely concentrate with Connor's words floating around in his mind. He wasn't sure what he should do about the situation. He knew Angel wouldn't be happy to hear that the boy had claimed to be in love with him. She would be put in the position of choosing to help Connor or turn away from him. Collins knew that he and Angel couldn't just ignore the fact that his student needed help. He sighed as the subway stopped and he got off.

Walking at a slowed pace, he thought of not telling Angel at all. If he and Connor just kept what was said between them, he could deal with it quietly. Then there was the issue of the kiss. There was no way his conscience would let him keep that from Angel. But what would happen when he told her? Would she kick Connor out? What if Connor had _already _told her? What if the two of them were sitting on the couch with angry thoughts in their heads waiting for him to walk through the door?

He soon made it to the apartment building and decided he'd better not delay whatever was going to happen. He quickly walked up the three flights of stairs and made his way to the door of his apartment. The first thing he saw upon stepping inside was Connor. The boy was asleep on the couch, a blanket draped over him. There was a small mug on the coffee table. Collins immediately sensed Angel's motherly instincts had kicked in after he'd called.

"Hey, honey," Angel greeted him, emerging from the kitchen. She spoke in a soft voice so she didn't disturb Connor. "How was your day?"

"Long," Collins replied, placing his briefcase on the floor. He shut the door behind him quietly as Angel gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled at her before turning his attention to Connor. Angel followed his gaze.

"He was really upset when he came back here," she said. Collins looked at her.

"Did he say what he was upset about?" he asked. Angel shook her head. "Was he mad, sad?"

"Sad. He looked like he wanted to cry. I think he was just upset about the nightmare he had."

"How did you get him to fall asleep?"

"I made him some hot tea and sang to him. The poor thing was afraid to close his eyes, but once he did, he was gone. He's been asleep for about four hours now." Collins nodded. It was clear that Connor hadn't said anything yet, but that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't. "I really hope everything goes well."

"So do I."

"No . . . don't . . ." Connor mumbled, fidgeting on the couch. He seemed to be trying to get something away from him. Angel and Collins exchanged looks. They walked to the couch and stood over Connor as he became still, his arms at his sides.

"I think he's having the nightmare again," Angel commented. She shook him. "Connor? Connor, wake up." The boy's eyes remained closed and he didn't move. Angel shook him a bit harder. She got no response. "Honey, I can't wake him up."

"Please . . . stop . . ." Connor continued. Collins tried shaking him as Angel had.

"Connor?" he said. Connor kept still.

"Why won't he wake up?" Angel asked. Her voice had a panicked edge to it. Collins shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly, Connor began flailing around and screaming.

"Get him off of me!" he cried. "Professor, please get him off of me! Help me! Please! Professor, help me!" Collins sat on the edge of the couch, pulled Connor into an upright position, and held his arms to his sides. Angel watched him with widened eyes.

"Connor!" he shouted. "Connor, you have to wake up!"

"Help! Get him off of me!"

"Connor, open your eyes!" Connor's eyes snapped open and he began hyperventilating. "Connor, breathe slower. Take deep breaths." The eighteen-year-old tried his best to steady his breathing. "In and out, in and out. Angel, could you get him some water or something?" The drag queen rushed to the kitchen.

"Professor . . ." Connor said between gasps. Collins shushed him.

"Don't speak," he told the boy, removing his hands from his arms. "Just breathe." Connor did as he was instructed. Angel soon came out of the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand.

"Here, sweetie," she said, holding the glass out to Connor. The eighteen-year-old slowly took the glass out of Angel's hand and took a sip of the water. "You were having the nightmare again, weren't you?"

"Yes, but it was . . . different," Connor replied.

"How so?"

"Well, usually I'm twelve again and in my mother's room, but . . . this time I was eighteen and in this apartment." Connor placed the glass on the coffee table.

"What exactly happened in the nightmare?"

"I was asleep and I felt someone touching my legs . . . I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. Then the person kissed me on the cheek. I opened my eyes and I saw the man . . . he climbed on top of me. He held me down and I . . . I couldn't get him off of me. Then he . . . started undressing me. I screamed and called for Professor Collins to help me because I couldn't fight him . . . he was too strong." Connor looked down at his hands.

"Did anything happen after that?"

"He put one of the couch pillows over my face to stop me from screaming . . . then I woke up. I was so scared."

"Everything's okay now, sweetheart."

"That man undoubtedly has no idea Angel and I even exist," Collins told his student. "He can't hurt you anymore, Connor." The phone then rang. Angel crossed the room, picked up the cordless phone receiver, and put it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said pleasantly. She smiled. "Hi, Mimi! Hold on a sec."

The drag queen put the phone to her shoulder and walked toward the bedroom, winking at Collins as she passed him. He watched her and chuckled. He figured Mimi was helping her plan something special for him. She always did things like that. Collins looked at Connor, who was still staring at his hands. After a while, the professor stood up, walked to the door, and picked up his briefcase. He and Connor then stared at each other for a long while before the older of the two left the room.

Connor sat on the couch and thought. In his mind, he and Collins belonged together. They were both interested in a lot of the same subjects, they were both intellectuals. It just made sense to the young student that they should be in a relationship. But, of course, the professor's heart was with Angel. She'd won it by saving his life. It soon became apparent to Connor what he had to do if he wanted to be with Collins.

_If saving his life is what it takes, then saving his life is what I'll do, _he thought.

* * *

><p>"Have a good break, Professor," several students told Collins as they left the classroom. The professor smiled and kept his attention on the essay he was grading. As promised, everyone who hadn't turned their assignment in had done so while walking into the room. He was nearly finished grading every essay that had been turned in. Glancing at the pile of tests on the edge of his desk, he decided he would stay later so he could get them graded and have nothing to do except love Angel. He smiled at the thought of it.<p>

"You didn't tell her," he heard Connor say. His voice sounded slightly surprised. Collins took his reading glasses off, dropped the essay he was grading on his desk, and sighed.

"No," he said, looking up at Connor. "No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to drag her into this. I don't want her to have mixed feelings about helping you because of what you said."

"Do _you _have mixed feelings about helping me?"

"No."

"Then how do you know Angel would? She seems to be just as kind as you are."

"People can be unpredictable." Collins put his glasses back on and picked up the essay he had dropped.

"Angel told me how you two met."

"And?" Collins continued to read the essay.

"I think it's very romantic. She saved your life and you fell in love." There was a silence. "Tell me something, Professor. If you weren't with Angel, would you have kissed me back?" Collins looked up at the eighteen-year-old.

"No."

"You didn't even have to think about that, did you?"

"Not at all. Connor, you are my student."

"That shouldn't matter. Love is love. I love you, Professor, and I know we'd be perfect for each other."

"You have _no idea _what you're saying right now, Connor. You haven't even met anyone else besides me. That's the only reason you think you're in love with me."

"I don't think I'm in love with you, I _know _I am."

"Dammit, Connor, stop saying that! You're _not _in love with me and I'm sure as hell not in love with _you! _Get it through your head _right now!" _Connor stared at his professor for a moment before dropping his gaze to the floor.

"You're angry." The boy spoke softly. Collins sighed.

"I'm not angry, I'm just frustrated."

"'Frustrated?'"

"Yes. You're putting me in an _extremely _compromising position and it frustrates me to no end. Connor, I don't want to hurt you or break your heart, but you're not giving me much of a choice. I am in love with _Angel, _not _you. _She is the love of my life and you are my student. That is all you will _ever _be. Do you understand?" Connor gave a slight nod. "Good."

Collins went back to grading essays as Connor slowly made his way toward the door. When he reached it, he turned back around to face his professor.

"I'll be out of your way for the duration of spring break, Professor," he informed him. Collins looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"I told you it's okay for you to stay in my apartment," he stated.

"I know, but I sort of have a tradition. Every year, I go to my safe house for spring break."

"'Safe house?'"

"It's a small cottage in Vermont that my parents don't know about. I go there every spring break to be alone. I like it there. No one can hurt me."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

"It is. See you in two weeks, Professor." Connor left the room without saying another word.

Collins spent the rest of his classes and about three hours after the last one ended grading essays and tests. He was getting sick of the task, but it had to be done. He didn't want anything to stand in the way of his alone time with Angel. He smiled as he thought about his lover. Thinking about her seemed to make time fly by and his grading was finished before he knew it. He picked up the phone receiver and dialed the number to his apartment, starting to put the now graded papers into his briefcase.

"_Hello?" _Angel's voice came.

"Hey, baby," Collins said. "I just wanted to let you know I'm finished grading all the essays and tests and I'm packing up as we speak."

"_That's great, honey!"_

"I can't wait for two whole weeks alone with you."

"_Same here. Oh, wait. What about Connor?"_

"He told me he wants to spend spring break alone in his safe house."

"_What's a safe house?"_

"A house in Vermont where he feels safe. According to him, he goes there every spring break."

"_Oh. Well, does he have our number in case he needs anything?"_

"Yes."

"_Good. When do you think you'll be home?"_

"A half hour or so, depending on how the subways are running tonight."

"_I'll be waiting. I love you."_

"I love you, too, baby. I'll see you soon." Collins hung up the phone, closed his briefcase, and picked it up.

He turned the lights off before leaving the room. Angel remained on his mind as he walked through hallways and eventually out of the building, saying goodnight to fellow professors he passed. It was dark and chilly outside, but Collins didn't let that get to him. He casually walked through the parking lot, glancing at a car behind him as it started. The car revved as he continued to walk. He looked over his shoulder and saw the car hadn't moved. He thought nothing of it, looking ahead of him. He then heard the car's tires screech and the car rammed into him before he even had time to think. The car sent him flying a few feet in the air. His briefcase fell from his hand and he felt an unbelievable amount of pain as he landed on his left leg on the cold, hard ground. The silhouette of a person holding some sort of pipe walking toward him was the last thing he saw before he was knocked unconscious.

* * *

><p>Collins opened his eyes and sat up slowly. His head was throbbing and a sharp pain shot through his leg. As he tried to recall what had happened to him, he realized he was lying in a bed in a room he had never seen before. The room was brightly lit by a small lamp on the bedside table and had a private bathroom in it. He looked at his leg. It was in a plaster cast. He winced in pain as he tried to move it. Closing his eyes, he forced himself not to cry.<p>

"Oh, good," a familiar voice said. "You're awake." Collins immediately opened his eyes and they landed on Connor's face.

"Connor?" he said. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Don't worry about a thing, Professor." The boy smiled at Collins. "I'm going to take good care of you."

**Review please.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! I recently met someone named Conner and giggled a little when he told me his name. He's a really nice guy though. He's funny, too. Anyway . . .**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest. **

"You should lie down," Connor told his professor. "There's a 97.34 percent chance that you have a concussion." Collins slowly laid back in down, continuing to look around as he did so. There was a phone next to the lamp on the bedside table, a chair in the far corner of the room, and a pair of crutches propped against the wall behind Connor. It seemed like a pleasant little place to be, but Collins still wanted to know where he was.

"Connor, what is this place?" he asked.

"This is my safe house."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I have to keep you safe, Professor. Someone tried to kill you. Don't you remember what happened?"

"Not really. And my head hurts _way _too much to think."

"I saw the whole thing."

"You did?"

"Yes. Someone hit you with their car, got out of it, and hit you over the head with a pipe or a crowbar or something. I ran toward them and they ran off when they saw me coming."

"I thought you were on your way _here _when you left my classroom."

"I was, but I just had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to you, so I waited for you. I was going to follow you to make sure you got home safely."

"You had a feeling?"

"Well . . . I heard some students planning to hurt you. I went to the dean, but I guess he didn't do anything about it." Collins shifted in the single-sized bed and groaned in pain.

"Connor, _why _am I not in a hospital?" he asked.

"That's a public place, Professor. I couldn't risk your attacker finding you. I figured this is the only place you would be safe, so I brought you here and made a house call to a local doctor. He gave me medication to give you for pain. I'll go get it."

Collins looked at the one window that was in the room. The curtains were closed. He desperately wished the crutches were closer to the bed so he could get to the curtains, open them, look out the window, and see if recognized what part of Vermont Connor had brought him to. He then noticed a telephone next to the lamp on the bedside table. Stretching his arm as much as he could, he reached for the phone, attempting to pull it closer to him.

"Professor?" Connor said as he reentered the room. Collins turned his attention to his student, his hand still reaching for the phone. The eighteen-year-old was carrying a small medical bag.

"I have to call Angel," he stated as Connor came toward the bed. "She's probably worried about me."

"I'm afraid you can't do that."

"Why not?"

"There was a windstorm while I was bringing you here. It knocked the power out."

"Then how is that lamp on?"

"I have a backup generator, but the phone lines are completely separate from the main power source of this place."

"So Angel's just going to have to worry until the phone lines are repaired?"

"I actually have a cellular phone, but I'll have to charge it." Connor placed the medical bag on the floor beside the bed, walked to the chair on the other side of the room, and pushed it to Collins' bedside. He then picked the medical bag up and sat down. Something suddenly occurred to Collins.

"Did you go to the police?" he asked.

"The police?" Connor replied, unzipping the medical bag.

"Yes. After you saw what happened to me, did you go to the police?" Connor looked down in shame. "You didn't, did you?"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I guess I was so focused on getting you somewhere safe, I completely forgot to do that. I'll do it first thing in the morning, I promise."

Collins' head throbbed and he closed his eyes as if he could mentally block out the pain. He felt Connor roll the sleeve of his shirt up before something was wrapped around his upper arm. His eyes snapped open, landing on a white tourniquet that Connor had tied on him. He stared at the boy as he dug through the medical bag and soon produced a small bottle and an empty syringe from it.

"What is that?" the professor asked, keeping his eyes on Connor as he took the cap off of the needle of the syringe and inserted it into the small hole on top of the bottle.

"Morphine," the student answered. He slowly pulled the plunger of the syringe, filling the barrel to the line with the number three next to it. He then put the bottle back into the medical bag and reached for Collins' arm. The professor pulled his arm away.

"Connor, I'm not letting you give me morphine," he said.

"It helps, Professor. It helps with the pain. Let me help you." Collins kept his arm close to his body. "You're in pain and it'll only get worse as time passes. Trust me, Professor, this won't hurt you. I wouldn't _dream _of hurting you. Please, let me help."

Hearing the sincerity in the boy's voice, Collins slowly held his arm out to him. He looked away as Connor pushed the needle into his arm and pressed down on the plunger. He didn't look back at Connor until he felt the needle and tourniquet being removed from his arm. Within two minutes he felt the pain in his head become dull.

"Now, you just rest, Professor," Connor told him, putting the cap back on the needle and placing the syringe back in the medical bag.

"I still want to talk to Angel," Collins replied. He felt the morphine flowing through his veins and slowly relieving his pain.

"And you will, but you have to rest for now." The professor nodded and made himself comfortable on the bed. Connor smiled at him before turning the lamp off and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Angel sat on the couch in her apartment next to Mimi, who was holding her hand. It had been six and a half hours since Collins had called to say he was on his way home and he hadn't shown up yet. Since Collins had said his arrival time depended on how the subways were running, she didn't think anything of it when an hour went by and he still wasn't home. She began to worry when two hours passed, but convinced herself that he could be buying a gift for her. He loved to buy things for her just to see her smile. When three hours had passed, she was panicking. She immediately called the loft and after she quickly explained to Mark that she believed Collins was missing, she decided to call Joanne and Maureen as well. All of her friends were in the apartment within an hour and fifteen minutes.<p>

"Did you try calling the university again?" Joanne asked. Angel nodded.

"They told me he'd already left," she replied. She was extremely close to tears.

"I still don't understand why the police won't do anything," Maureen commented.

"The police don't consider a person missing until they've been gone for at least twenty-four hours," Mark said.

"Don't they realize that something bad could happen to a person in twenty-four hours?"

"I'm sure they do, but that's always been the rule," Joanne answered.

"But what if he was kidnapped and is inches away from death right now?"

"Maureen, don't say things like that."

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not going to sit here until twenty-four hours have passed," Roger declared. "I'm going out to look for him. Who's with me?"

"I am!" Maureen exclaimed.

"Same here," Mark added.

"I'll stay here with Angel," Mimi said, giving her best friend's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I will, too," Joanne stated. "If Collins _was _kidnapped, there's a good chance his captor will call soon." As if on cue, the phone rang. The bohemians all looked at it at the same time. Very slowly, Angel let go of Mimi's hand, stood up, and walked toward the phone. She looked back at Joanne, who nodded, before picking the receiver up.

"Hello?" she said.

"_Hello, Angel," _Connor's voice came. Angel gave a sigh of relief that this wasn't some sort of ransom call.

"Oh, hi, Connor."

_"Is Professor Collins there?"_ Hearing her lover's name brought tears to Angel's eyes.

"No, he . . . he never came home."

_"He never came home? Has something happened to him?"_

"God, I hope not." The boy was silent for a moment. "Connor, are you still there?"

_"Maybe I should have gone to the police . . ."_ Angel gasped softly.

"What do you mean by that?"

_"Last week I . . . I heard some students talking about how much they hate Professor Collins and they were making plans to . . . hurt him . . . I should have gone to the police . . . I'm __so__ sorry, Angel . . ."_

"Sweetie, it's okay. You didn't know . . . do you happen to know who these students are?"

"_Michael Brown and . . . Lionel Morris. I don't know much about them except they sit directly behind me in Professor Collins' class and talk badly about him."_

"The names are just fine, Connor, thank you." Angel was beginning to smile.

"_I wish I could tell you more, but I can't really think right now. I'm just in shock that he's missing."_

"Well, if you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call."

"_I won't. I hope you find him. Goodbye."_

"Goodbye and thanks again." Angel hung up the phone and looked to her friends. "Connor said he heard two of Collins' students talking about hurting him last week. He said their names are Michael Brown and Lionel Morris."

"That's perfect!" Maureen exclaimed. "We can take the names to the police and find out if these two have a record!" Joanne smiled at her girlfriend.

"So you _do _learn things from visiting me at work," she said. She then stood up and looked around at her friends. "We've got leads, so let's follow them."

**So . . . who hates Connor? **

**Review please.**


	8. Chapter 8

**You guys keep reviewing and I'll keep updating. That's how our relationship works. I think it's a good arrangement. I'm just being silly right now. Enjoy the chapter.**

**I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

The bohemians sat in the lobby of the police station with cups of coffee in their hands. It was two in the morning and the two students Connor had mentioned to Angel on the phone had been found and brought in for questioning. They were both twenty-years-old and had previous offenses involving drunk driving and underage drinking, but that was _all _that could be found on them. Thirty minutes had passed since they had been brought to the station and taken to separate interrogation rooms.

"Angel, I can go with you back to your apartment if you want to try to get some sleep," Mimi told the drag queen, who looked like she was fighting exhaustion with everything in her. She shook her head and sipped her bitter coffee.

"I want to be here when something happens," she replied. A male detective and his female partner approached the group of friends.

"Sanders, Baker, what did you get?" Joanne asked.

"Not a damn thing," Detective Sanders answered. His voice had a hint of anger in it.

"Nothing at all?" Mark asked.

"We split them up and they _still _had the same story," Detective Baker replied. "They admitted to planning to hurt their professor, but they both said they would never actually carry the plan out."

"Called themselves 'cowards,'" Sanders added. He shook his head. "Unless we get a solid confession, the only thing we can take these guys down for is conspiracy to commit kidnapping."

"So there's _nothing _you can do?" Roger asked.

"Not without a confession or them pointing their fingers at someone else," Baker replied. Angel placed her coffee cup on the floor and stood up.

"I want to talk to them," she announced. "And since I only have one question that I need answered, I want them in the same room." Everyone stared at Angel, who had a determined look in her eyes. Baker glanced at her partner before leaving the room. She returned five minutes later and gestured to Angel to follow her. Sanders walked behind the drag queen.

Once they had reached the interrogation room, Angel stared at Michael and Lionel through the one-way glass. Both boys looked downright scared.

"Are you sure about this?" Sanders asked. Angel simply nodded. After Baker opened the door for her, she walked into the room fearlessly and sat down on the opposite side of the table Michael and Lionel were sitting at. They glanced at each other.

"You're Professor Collins' girlfriend, aren't you?" Michael asked.

"Yes, I am," Angel replied. "How do you know that?"

"He talks about you sometimes," Lionel answered. "And he has a picture of you on his desk since he's one of the few professors who doesn't have to share a classroom." Angel nodded and studied her lover's students. They kept stealing looks at Baker and Sanders, who were in the room for precautionary reasons.

"I'm going to ask you both one question and I want you to answer it honestly," Angel told them. "Can I trust you to tell me the truth?"

"Yes," both boys replied.

"Are you responsible for Collins' disappearance?"

"No, we'd never do anything like this," Lionel said.

"We've thought about it, but stuff like that takes a hell of a lot of time," Michael added. "Besides, from what he's told us about you, you're really sensitive and nice. We wouldn't put you through this just because we don't like the workload your boyfriend gives us."

Angel examined their faces. She could tell by subtle facial movements whether or not she was being lied to. She could see in their eyes that these boys were telling the truth. Offering them a warm smile, she stood up.

"Thank you," she said. Sanders opened the door for her and she was led back to the lobby.

"Did they confess yet?" Maureen immediately asked.

"They don't have anything to confess," Angel replied. "They told the truth."

"They're college kids who don't want to go to prison," Sanders said, folding his arms. "They'll say _anything _to get themselves off the hook. What makes you so sure they're telling the truth?"

"I can't explain it. I just know they were being honest."

"So, we're back at square one," Roger stated. "Collins is missing and we don't have the slightest idea of where he could be."

"Who did you say gave you their names?" Baker asked.

"A boy named Connor Bennett," Joanne answered. "Why?"

"I'm thinking maybe we should check him out."

"Connor's a sweetheart," Angel told the detective. "He's quiet, shy, and he only really feels comfortable when he's around Collins. He'd never hurt him."

"I still say we look into this kid's life."

"She's right," Sanders agreed. "It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it's the quiet ones that are guilty."

* * *

><p>The sun coming in the window through a small crack in the curtains woke Collins up. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Slowly, he sat up and stretched a little. He stared at his broken leg as the door of the room opened. Connor entered carrying a tray and smiling.<p>

"Good morning, Professor," he said. "I made a special breakfast for you. A veggie omelet with toast on the side and a glass of orange juice, freshly squeezed."

"That's sweet, Connor," Collins replied. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to." Connor walked over to the bedside table and put the glass of orange juice next to the phone before placing the tray on Collins' lap. He watched as the professor picked up the fork that was on the tray and tasted the omelet.

"This is good."

"I'm glad you like it." Connor's smile grew brighter. Collins then noticed the boy was wearing a long sleeved shirt, a sweater vest, and khaki pants.

"Connor, do you have any . . . normal clothes?" he asked. A confused look replaced Connor's smile.

"What do you mean by that?" he replied.

"No offense, but you dress like a forty-year-old man. You're always in sweaters or button down shirts that you tuck in your pants."

"You don't like my clothes?"

"I didn't say that. It's just . . . you're eighteen. I think you should dress like it."

"I _like _to wear sweaters."

"I know, but . . . never mind. Forget I said anything." Collins continued to eat his breakfast as Connor looked down at his sweater vest and frowned slightly. "Who taught you how to cook?"

"No one. I read a recipe book one day out of sheer boredom when I was six. I made dinner for my parents by myself for the first time when I was eight." The boy was looking at Collins, momentarily distracted by his comments on his fashion choices.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I knew at a very young age I was going to have to know how to take care of myself, so I learned by reading."

"Are the phones repaired yet?"

"Not quite, but I _did _talk to Angel." Collins eyes widened.

"Why didn't you let _me _talk to her?"

"You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

"What did she say?"

"I told her what happened and she doesn't think traveling would be good for you in your condition. She told me to take care of you."

"She . . . did?" Connor nodded. "That doesn't sound like her. Whenever I'm sick or hurt, she always wants to take care of me herself." Connor's heartbeat quickened and he hastily thought of a response.

"She'll take care of you when she gets here," he said. Collins stared at him in confusion. "She only wants me to take care of you until she can get here."

"Well, when will that be?" Connor froze, racking his brain for another fast answer. "Hello?"

"Sorry, I was trying to estimate her time of arrival, but . . . since I'm not sure . . . what's wrong with your friend Joanne's car, I can't calculate the time it would take to have it fixed. So, it's really hard to say at this point when Angel will be here." The eighteen-year-old mentally patted himself on the back for being able to think on his feet. Sometimes he loved having an eidetic memory.

"Well, could you call back and ask her?" Collins asked. "And let me talk to her this time?"

"Sure . . . I can do that." Collins suddenly brought his hand to his head. "Oh, you're hurting. I'll be right back."

"Connor, I'll be fine." Connor had already bolted from the room.

He knew he was going to have to add more lies to his story about Angel, specifically an explanation as to why she wasn't going to show up. The whole point of Connor's plan was to make Collins forget about Angel, but it seemed as though he thought of her even more when he was separated from her. It was the one thing that was hindering his plan. Somehow outsmarting his professor was the only way he could think of at that moment that would make him see that they belonged together.

_He __will__ love me, _he thought as he gathered the tourniquet, syringe, and bottle of morphine. _He __has__ to._

**Review please.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Next chapter. That is all.**

**I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

"How long have you had your safe house?" Collins asked Connor as he sat down in the chair next to the bed. He watched his student tie the tourniquet around his arm and take the cap off of the needle of the syringe.

"Since I was fourteen," Connor replied. He began filling the syringe with morphine. "I'm not proud of it, but I had to forge my father's name on quite a few documents to get it."

"So money is being taken from his bank account in order for you to keep this place?"

"Yes, but I've managed to pay him back every cent without him noticing."

"How?"

"There's a large number of people who want to study me and will pay _a lot _of money to do so. I used that money to replace what was taken out of his account. Since I recently turned eighteen, I had the house put under _my _name, so my father doesn't have to pay for it anymore."

"Have you called Angel back yet?"

"Yes, but she didn't answer. I'll have to try again later."

Collins nodded and tried to think of something else he could ask to stall Connor giving him the morphine. He knew people who had become addicted to the drug after being in horrible accidents. He didn't want to be like them, most of them had overdosed and died. Connor held Collins' arm out, preparing to insert the needle.

"Connor, don't," Collins said. Connor stared at Collins in confusion, holding the needle just centimeters away from his arm.

"I don't understand, Professor," he replied.

"I don't want the morphine."

"But-"

"I'm in a lot of pain and I know I'm going to need relief at least once a day," Collins interrupted. "Maybe even _more _than once a day. And if that happens, my body will become accustomed to having it and . . . I just don't want to develop a drug dependency." Connor placed the syringe on his lap and held Collins' hand. He looked into his professor's eyes.

"Tell me it doesn't help ease your pain and I won't give it to you," he said.

Collins stared at him, trying his hardest to form the words. He knew even if he _could_ bring himself to say the drug didn't help, he would be lying. Knowing that he needed_ something _to help him cope with the pain, he said nothing and slowly looked down at his arm. Connor picked the syringe up. Collins closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his student injected him with the morphine. He opened his eyes when the pain started to fade.

"It . . . _does _help," he commented as Connor took the tourniquet off of his arm. "But I'm_ still _worried about it."

"You don't have to worry, Professor," Connor told him, putting the tourniquet and syringe back into the medical bag. "I won't let it get that far. No matter how much it helps." The boy was staring at the bottle of morphine, a look of desire in his eyes. Collins noticed this and instantly became uneasy.

"Connor?" The eighteen-year-old jumped slightly before turning his attention to Collins. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Professor." Connor stuffed the bottle into the medical bag. "Would you like a tour?"

"Sure, why not?" The graduate student smiled and stood up, putting the medical bag in the chair. He then walked to the other side of the room and grabbed the pair of crutches. Carefully, he helped Collins out of the bed and steady himself on the crutches.

"I think you'll like . . ." Connor stopped in mid-sentence, closed his eyes, clutched his head with one hand.

"Connor?" Collins said. The boy soon opened his eyes and brought his hand down to his side. "You all right?"

"Of course," Connor told his professor. "It was just a little headache. I get them from time to time. It's no big deal. Come on, let's start the tour."

* * *

><p>Angel and Maureen followed Joanne into the police station. The three of them hadn't gotten much sleep, but they were all wide awake. Mark, Roger, and Mimi were out searching the city for Collins. Every last bohemian had their own level of determination to find their missing friend. None of them wanted to do anything else until Collins was home.<p>

"Detective Baker," Joanne said as she, Maureen, and Angel approached the detective's desk. Baker held up her index finger as she finished a call.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Downs," she said into the phone. "I may contact you later, but that's all for now. Goodbye." She hung up the phone and picked up a nearby cup of coffee, sighing heavily.

"Who's Mr. Downs?" Maureen inquired. Baker took a large gulp of her coffee.

"The dean at NYU. I asked him some questions about Connor Bennett. Just to see what type of kid he is."

"I know him," Angel said. "He's a sweet boy, virtually incapable of being violent."

"Just because he's not violent, doesn't mean he's sweet."

"What did you find out?" Joanne asked. Baker picked up the legal pad she had been writing on. It looked like she just scribbled, but she knew what everything meant.

"Mr. Downs described him as a kindhearted, polite young man. He's always looking toward the future because he wants to be successful in whatever career he has. He's very quiet and very shy, doesn't have many friends. And his favorite professor seems to be his philosophy professor, Thomas Collins."

"I knew all that," Angel commented. "I could have _told _you that, but you insisted on snooping around in his past."

"Did you also know that he got into a little bit of trouble and the only person he would talk to about it was Professor Thomas Collins?"

"'Trouble?'" Maureen repeated. "That kid probably can't even _spell _trouble. Well . . . I'm sure he can _literally _spell it, but I'm speaking figuratively. So . . . what did he do?"

"It happened in class that he's required to take in order to earn his PhD in psychology," Baker began. "He was being harassed by a few students, you know, pushed around. He asked them to stop and they made fun of him even more for being so timid."

"Where was the professor?" Joanne asked.

"The class hadn't even started yet, so the professor was on her way." Joanne nodded as Baker took another drink of her coffee. "Anyway, he asked the students to leave him alone again with no luck and one of them pushed him to the ground. _Here's _where it gets interesting. According to the students who were watching, Connor grabbed his head with both of his hands and started screaming like he was in pain."

"Wait a minute, why didn't anybody stop this?" Angel asked.

"They didn't know him, so they didn't care. When he started screaming, a student rushed to him to see if he was all right. He stopped screaming, took his hands away from his head, and looked at the girl, but he never answered her. Then he looked at the student who pushed him, stood up, tackled him, and started repeatedly slamming his head on the floor _just _as the professor appeared in the doorway."

"That _does not _sound like the boy I talked to about his mother," Joanne commented.

"What about his mother?"

"She's been beating him since he was three."

"There _are _cases where someone who was abused becomes an abuser themselves."

"You can't really call him an abuser if this only happened once," Angel pointed out. "Maybe he just snapped because he was sick of being picked on." Joanne and Maureen nodded in agreement. Before Baker could respond, Sanders appeared in front of her desk holding several file folders.

"Sixty-three cases," he said, dropping the folders on his partner's desk. Baker stared at the pile of folders with widened eyes. "I found sixty-three cases by running the last name Bennett through the system and not _one _of them mentions a boy named Connor."

"What about adoption records?" Joanne asked.

"Nothing."

"You're kidding!" Maureen exclaimed. "You didn't even find adoption records for him? How is that possible?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"Connor vividly remembers his biological mother leaving him in an orphanage," Joanne said. "He was only two at the time, but still, he remembers it."

"Maybe he wasn't adopted in New York," Baker suggested.

"That's a possibility," Sanders replied.

"This is insane," Angel said. "Why are we wasting so much time on Connor instead of finding Collins?"

"Connor is the only person who gave us anything to work with," Baker explained. "Sure, the names and information didn't really help, but it lets us know that he may have more for us." The female detective sighed. "Now, all we have to figure out is how we're supposed to find anything on someone without so much as an address in the system."

The detectives and the three bohemians were silent. They tried to think of any possible methods of figuring out Connor's past and where he could be at that very moment. Baker's thoughts were interrupted when a fellow detective put a stapler down in front of her.

"Just returning that," he said. He turned and walked away, starting to zip his jacket.

"Ed!" Baker called after him. Ed turned around.

"Yeah?" He made his way back to Baker's desk.

"We've got a missing college professor, no witnesses, and no leads. Our best bet of finding a lead is by finding one of the professor's students and no one knows where he is or what his past is like because he's no where in the New York system. What should we do?" Ed put a hand to his chin and thought for a moment.

"Give up and go home," he replied.

"I thought you'd say that."

"Ed, do you think you could help us out with this one?" Sanders asked. Ed sighed and unzipped his jacket.

"What the hell?" he said, taking his jacket off. "My bed will be there next week."

"Try two weeks from now. We have absolutely _nothing."_

"Do you at least have the name of the student you're looking for?"

"His name is Connor Bennett," Joanne said. "He gave us names of students he thought might have something to do with-"

"Bennett?" Ed interrupted.

"Yes . . ."

"Bennett . . . Bennett. I've heard that name before." The five others stared at Ed as he mulled over the name. "I remember! It was back during my days as a beat cop up in Vermont."

"Anything to do with Connor Bennett?" Maureen asked.

"No. Just a woman screaming about how her little boy was taken from her."

"Child services?" Joanne guessed.

"Nope. She said someone kidnapped him. That's all I really remember. That and the case was filed as dismissed because the woman was bat-shit crazy. I'd have to see the file to figure out if it connects to Connor Bennett."

"Is there any way to get it?" Angel asked.

"I'd only have to make a phone call. I'll be right back." Ed walked back to his desk and picked up the phone.

"What we do if the file has nothing to do with Connor?" Maureen asked.

"We'll probably end up having to retrace Collins' steps," Joanne said. Maureen nodded as Ed walked back to Baker's desk. He had a confused look on his face.

"That was fast," Sanders commented.

"Apparently, I'm the second person in two weeks to ask for copies of that case," Ed replied in shock.

"Well . . . who asked before you?" Baker asked.

"Someone named Arthur Gibson." Maureen, Joanne, and Angel all exchanged looks. Ed noticed this and raised an eyebrow. "What's with you three?"

"Arthur Gibson is Connor's adoptive father," Joanne said.

"Tell me we can find an address for him," Sanders told Baker.

"Already on it," his partner replied. Everyone stared as her fingers moved feverishly across the keyboard of her computer. For two minutes, no words were uttered. She soon stopped typing and her eyes lit up. "Got him!"

"Let's go pay Mr. Gibson a visit then," Ed said, speaking the words the five others were thinking.

**Yes, I **_**did **_**throw Ed Green into the story.**

**Review please**


	10. Chapter 10

**This is the part where people gasp loudly and then hold their breath until the next chapter. At least, that's what I would do if I was just reading this instead of writing it.**

**I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Ed, Baker, Sanders, Maureen, Joanne, and Angel got out of the two cars they used for transportation to the home of Arthur Gibson. They parked right across the street from the house and studied it. It wasn't too big or too small. There was a swing on the porch. It looked like a generally happy home for a happy family. Angel thought of Connor and instantly felt bad for him. There was no way anyone could tell he needed help from the outside.

"It seems so . . . normal," she commented.

"Most abused children's homes seem that way," Joanne replied. The six of them made their way across the street and onto the porch, Ed leading them. He knocked on the door and stared at the porch swing while he waited for someone to answer. Maureen, Joanne, and Angel all sat on the swing to make sure they weren't in the detectives' way. After about a minute and a half, the door swung open. A man stood in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of six strangers on his porch.

"Arthur Gibson?" Ed said.

"Yes, who wants to know?" Arthur said. The three detectives took their badges out and showed them.

"Detectives Green, Baker, and Sanders with the NYPD." Arthur gasped and his expression went from surprised to panicked. "We need to ask you a few-"

"I'm sorry, but you can't be here," Arthur interrupted. "Please leave."

"Why can't we be here exactly?" Baker asked. Arthur's eyes shifted back and forth quickly. He seemed to be afraid of something. "Mr. Gibson?"

"My wife isn't here right now. You'll have to come back when she is. Until then, please leave my home." Arthur tried to shut the door, but Ed stopped him from doing so.

"You can't get rid of us that easily, Mr. Gibson," he told the nervous man. "All we want to do is ask you a few questions."

"I can't talk to you."

"Why not?" Sanders asked.

"Because my wife isn't here."

"What does your wife have to do with you answering our questions?" Ed pressed. Arthur's attention dropped to his shoes. "Are you afraid of your wife, Mr. Gibson?"

"Why would I be afraid of her?" Arthur was still looking at his shoes.

"Because of the abuse," Baker replied. Arthur winced at the word "abuse." He hoped the detectives wouldn't notice. "Your wife is hurting you, isn't she?"

"We can protect you, Mr. Gibson," Sanders promised.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur lied. "I don't need protection from anything."

"What about Connor?" Ed asked. Arthur looked up at the detectives. "Don't you want to protect your son?"

"You're here to talk to me about Connor?"

"No, we're here to talk to you about the copies of a police case you requested from Vermont," Sanders told him. "Where are they and why did you ask for them? And think about your answer to that. We've got proof that you asked."

"I only asked for one copy," Arthur said. "And I don't have it. I . . . gave it to Connor."

"Why?"

"Because he . . . he needs to know."

"What does he need to know?" Baker inquired. Arthur fell silent. "Mr. Gibson-"

"You should really go," Arthur interrupted. He tried to shut the door and, once again, Ed stopped him. "Please, you _have _to leave."

"One more question," Ed said. "Do you know where Connor is right now?"

"No. He said he was leaving for spring break with some friends right after his classes yesterday."

"What about your wife?" Sanders asked. "Where is she?"

"I haven't seen her for a few hours, but she could be back any minute and she wouldn't be too happy seeing me talking to the police. Now, leave, _please." _Ed moved out of the way of the door and allowed Arthur to shut it.

"Well, that wasn't very helpful," Baker pointed out. "What do we do now?"

"The only thing we _can _do," Ed replied. "Wait for the copy of the file to come from Vermont and hope something in it helps us out."

"Can we really rely on that?" Angel asked.

"We're going to have to." The three bohemians and the three detectives started walking away from the house. When they were halfway across the street, Maureen stopped walking. She then ran back onto the porch and knocked on the door.

"Maureen!" Joanne called. The diva ignored her girlfriend and continued to knock on the door. The five others joined her on the porch.

"Go away!" Arthur demanded from inside the house.

"Mr. Gibson, has Connor ever said anything about his philosophy professor?" Maureen asked. All was still for a moment. The door suddenly opened slowly.

"Professor Collins?" Arthur said. "He talks about him all the time. He actually . . . writes poems about him."

"What kind of poems?" Angel asked.

"Love poems." Angel's eyes widened. "I thought it was just a crush, but then I found a notebook that he wrote . . . short scenes in."

"'Short scenes?'" Joanne repeated.

"I believe they're his fantasies. His . . . sexual fantasies." Angel wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't. She was in complete shock. "I tried talking to him about it, but his mother got to him before I could."

"Are you sure you don't know where he is right now?" Baker asked. "We need to talk to him."

"Yes, I'm sure. Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"We don't know that right now, Mr. Gibson, but we'll let you know if it turns out he is," Sanders told him.

"If he _is _in trouble, you have to make sure you tell _me. _You _cannot _tell my wife."

"If that happens to be the case, we'll make sure you receive the information before your wife does," Ed promised. He and the five others started to walk down the porch steps as Arthur closed the door. When they reached the cars, Baker's mobile phone rang. Everyone stopped and watched her answer it.

"Detective Baker," she said. "Yeah . . . okay. That sounds like the most promising thing right now. What time would that be? Got it, we'll be there." The female detective hung up and slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket. She then turned her attention to Angel. "As a request made by the dean and several faculty members of NYU, your boyfriend's name and picture are going to be on the news from coast to coast in about fifteen minutes."

"Really?" Angel replied.

"Yes and the lieutenant has set up a press conference. Do you think you'll be able to speak?"

"'Speak?'"

"I've dealt with hundreds of press conferences like this," Joanne told Angel. "You'd basically be holding a picture of Collins and asking whoever took him to bring him back home. You know, trying to make his kidnapper realize that he's a human being and he has people around that care about him."

"That makes sense."

"Do you think you can do that?" Baker asked again. The drag queen nodded.

"I'll do _anything _to bring Collins home," she said.

* * *

><p>Collins sat on the couch in the living room of Connor's safe house. He was reading <span>Anthem<span> by Ayn Rand. The tour of the house took less time than he had expected. Immediately following the tour, Connor gave Collins his AZT, which was in his briefcase since he kept it with him at all times. The boy had been out of sight for quite a while, so Collins made himself comfortable and took a book off of the shelf that was next to the television.

"Professor?" he heard his student's voice say. He looked up and his mouth dropped open. Connor was wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a T-shirt. His jacket was draped over one of his arms. He looked like a completely different person.

"Whoa!" Collins exclaimed.

"What is it?" Connor asked, beginning to feel self conscious.

"You . . . changed!"

"Yes . . . I did. I thought about what you said earlier and . . . you're right." Connor looked down at his clothes. "Do you like it?"

"I do. It suits you."

"I used to dress like this all the time."

"Why did you stop?"

"I was a twelve-year-old child prodigy in a public high school in New York City. I felt I needed to dress as though I was older than I was in order for people to take me seriously."

"Well, that's understandable. You know you didn't have to change because of what I said, don't you?"

"I know, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I missed these clothes. They're certainly more comfortable."

"And they look good on you." Connor smiled at his professor. "Were you going to ask me something before I noticed your clothes?"

"Oh, yes. I found a recipe for a vegetarian dish that I'd like to make for lunch, but there are a few ingredients that I don't have. Will you be okay staying here by yourself for a little while?"

"Of course. I'll be fine."

"Great. I should be back in twenty minutes and thirty seconds." Collins raised an eyebrow and stared at the eighteen-year-old. "Is there a problem?"

"Couldn't you have just said you should be back in twenty minutes?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I _won't _be back in twenty minutes. It will take me about five minutes to drive to the nearest market, one minute and thirty seconds to park, fifteen seconds to get inside the market, three minutes to find the items I need, four minutes to check out, one minute and forty-five seconds to get back to my car, and five minutes to drive back here. Ergo, I'll be back in twenty minutes and thirty seconds."

"Right . . . see you in twenty minutes and thirty seconds then." Connor smiled and walked out the front door.

Collins shook his head and went back to reading. He got to the part of the story where Equality 7-2521 meets Liberty 5-3000 before he decided to stop reading and turn the television on. He flipped through the channels until he found a news station. He was hoping that the broadcast would give him some sort of clue as to when the phone lines would be up and running again. He turned the volume up a bit and stared at the screen.

". . . the family of three was fortunate enough to make it out of the house unharmed," the female anchor was saying. She looked down at the stack of papers in front of her as the male anchor squinted obviously at the teleprompter.

"This just in: New York native and NYU philosophy professor Thomas Collins has been reported missing," he said. Collins felt his heart drop as a picture of him flashed onto the screen. A phone number was below it. "According to the New York Police Department, Collins was last seen leaving the university at around 7:00 pm yesterday evening. A press conference will be held later today. If anyone has seen or has any information on the whereabouts of Thomas Collins, please call the number at the bottom of the screen."

Collins reached beside him for the remote and turned the television off. He sat there for a moment, his eyes wide and his mouth half open. His heart was racing. Surely this was a mistake. He stood up slowly, secured his crutches under his arms, and carefully made his way to the room he had been staying in. There, he picked up the phone that was on the bedside table and sat on the bed. He put the receiver to his ear and frowned when he heard no dial tone. Then he saw it. On the floor, somewhat hidden underneath the table, was half of the phone cord. It was still plugged in the wall. He dropped the receiver on the bed and pulled the part of the cord that was attached to the phone toward him.

It had been severed.

**The shit has hit the fan! I repeat: the shit has hit the fan!**

**Review please.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I own nothing except a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins sat on the bed, unmoving and holding the severed phone cord in his hand. The anchorman's words were still fresh in his mind. Part of him felt as though he was in a lucid dream, but he knew he was wide awake. If it was being reported on the news that he was missing, it had to be true. That meant Connor hadn't really told Angel about his accident. She had no idea he was with him. No one did. Connor had lied to him. He wasn't sure how to feel about all of this. Should he be frightened? Angry? Both? He couldn't decide.

"Professor Collins?" he heard his student call. He quickly put the phone back in its place on the bedside table and, using his crutches, stood up. Connor then appeared in the doorway. "There you are. Did you grow bored of reading?"

"No, I just . . . had to use the bathroom," Collins lied.

"Oh, okay. Would you like to play chess?"

"Chess?"

"Yes. I always play against myself when I come here. I think it'll be more fun to play against another person. What do you say?"

"Sounds good." Connor gave a small smile.

"I'll go get the board and pieces and meet you in the living room."

Collins nodded as Connor walked away. He got himself to the living room and sat down on the couch. He forced a smile when Connor entered with the chess board and pieces. As they played, he didn't pay much attention. He stared at Connor most of the time. The fact that he seemed completely calm was somewhat frightening. No one should ever be so calm after they have committed a crime. It was as if he didn't feel like he had done anything wrong. Of course, Collins had no way of knowing what the boy was thinking since he wasn't aware that the professor was on to him.

"Your move, Professor," Connor said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Collins took his turn and watched Connor's facial movements as he thought about his next move. He looked at the board and realized he had a good chance of winning.

"Check in two moves," Collins announced. Connor glanced up at him and then turned his attention back to the board. He then moved his queen in front of Collins' king.

"Checkmate." Collins furrowed his brow.

"How did I not see that?"

"I saw it four moves ago." Connor began collecting the chess pieces.

"Did you now?"

"Yes. Did you know there are 400 ways of playing the first move on each side in a game of chess, 197,281 ways of playing the first two moves on each side, and an estimated 318,979,564,000 ways of playing the first four moves on each side?"

"I did not. Were you only able to figure out up to four?"

"I can figure out a lot more. It's simple math."

"Okay then, figure out the first _ten_ moves."

"Well, I already know the first five off the top of my head, so using simple math, as I said, that would make . . . 169,518,829,100,544,000,000,000,000,000 ways of playing the first ten moves on each side. Of course, that's just an estimate."

"Of course it is."

"Would you like to play another game?"

"Not right now." Connor nodded as he continued to collect the pieces. Collins watched him and silently made a plan to get the truth about what was going on out of him. "Have you tried calling Angel again?"

"Not yet, but I will."

"Why don't you do it now?" Connor froze and Collins noticed.

"Professor, I know you miss her, but calling her repeatedly isn't going to bring her here any faster." The boy kept his eyes on the chess board as he spoke.

"You're probably right. You gave her the address, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Connor looked up at Collins.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I just don't think Angel really knows I'm here." The chess pieces fell from Connor's hands and onto the floor. "Do you need help picking those up?"

"No, no. I've got it." The eighteen-year-old got down on his knees began frantically picking the pieces up off the floor. "What makes you think Angel doesn't know you're here?"

"Partially because if you called Angel like you said you did, she would be on her way here right now. She doesn't wait around when someone she loves and cares about is hurt."

"Why only partially?"

"Because my suspicion is based on the fact that I _know _Angel _and_ the fact that my picture is all over the news." Connor stopped picking up the chess pieces and looked at Collins. He was scowling at him. "According to the NYPD, I've been missing since yesterday. Care to explain that?"

"There's . . . nothing to explain." Connor's voice was soft.

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain why the cord of the phone in the guest room has been cut." Connor looked down at the carpet. "I'm waiting, Connor."

"Someone must have gotten in here."

"Enough of the bullshit!"

"Professor-"

"I offer to help you escape your abusive mother and your reciprocation is to hit me with a car and then kidnap me?" Collins interrupted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I never hit you with a car," Connor said, standing up. "And I brought you here to protect you."

"Tell me the fucking truth, Connor!"

"That _is _the truth. I would _never _hurt you. Someone tried to kill you. I'm protecting you!"

"By keeping me away from Angel?" Connor fell silent. "This has _nothing _to do with you protecting me from anything. You're just mad because Angel's in my life."

"I _am _protecting you, but . . ."

"What?"

" . . . we would be _perfect _for each other, Professor. Just think about it."

"There's something seriously wrong with you and I don't want to be around it." Collins used his crutches to stand himself up and he started for the front door, avoiding the chess pieces.

"Where are you going?" Connor asked.

"I'm leaving!"

"You _can't_ leave!"

"Watch me!" Connor threw himself in front of Collins and stood there. "Get out of my way!"

"You're hysterical. You're not thinking straight. Just go back to your room and rest."

Collins moved Connor out of the way with one of his crutches and continued toward the door. He was reaching for the doorknob when a gunshot sounded and a bullet went through the door, right above the knob. Collins slowly turned around to see Connor aiming a pistol at him. He was trembling. The professor's eyes widened.

"Connor-"

"My dad taught me how to shoot when I was thirteen," the boy interrupted. "I can hit anything I aim for. Go back to your room, Professor. I _will _shoot you." Collins was at a loss for words. Connor had a look of desperation in his eyes.

"Connor . . . you don't want to shoot me," Collins said. Connor tightened his grip on the gun.

"I don't want to, but I will if I have to. I can't lose you, Professor." Collins slowly made his way toward the guest room, Connor's gun aimed at him the entire time. Once he was inside the room, the door was shut and he heard a soft click. He tried to turn the knob, but he couldn't.

He was locked in.

* * *

><p>Angel took deep breaths as she sat in a chair outside a conference room in the police station. She was holding a cup of water, sipping it occasionally. Her mind was so clouded she barely understood what she was about to do. Calming down was her main goal at the moment, but it seemed impossible. She wasn't afraid or nervous about being in front of cameras. It was what she would be saying that scared her. Up until now, Collins being kidnapped had been a theory. She knew that once the words left her lips, it would be true. She didn't think she would be able to handle that.<p>

A random photographer started snapping pictures of her, causing her to shield her eyes from the flash.

"Hey, back off!" Baker said, rushing over to Angel with Joanne and Maureen right behind her. The photographer scurried away.

"They're like leeches," Joanne commented, staring through the windows of the conference room at the many reporters that had gathered there.

"You ready, Angel?" Maureen asked. Angel nodded, stood up, and gave her cup of water to her friend. Baker placed a blown up picture of Collins in her hands. It was the same picture that had been on the news two hours ago. Collins was smiling in the picture. Angel's eyes filled with tears.

"Remember, you need to show how much he's loved," Baker told her. "If his captor has even the slightest bit of a heart, they'll realize what they've done is wrong and with any luck they'll feel bad about it."

"Bad enough to bring him home?" Maureen inquired.

"That's the goal, but it's very unlikely." Angel took a few more deep breaths as Baker led her to the door of the conference room. Joanne walked behind the drag queen.

"I'll be right here when you come out if you need a hug," Maureen promised, smiling at her friend. Angel nodded as Baker opened the door.

Camera flashes greeted the three of them. Angel walked between Baker and Joanne up to the front of the room where a podium had been set up. Angel stood behind it and stared at the microphone. Baker stood on one side of her and Joanne stood on the other. She looked to both of them, receiving two looks of reassurance. Stepping closer to the podium, she prepared herself to speak.

"My name is Angel," she said. She turned the picture of Collins toward the sea of reporters. "And this is my boyfriend, Thomas Collins." She paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. "He's a . . . college professor and he's . . . been missing since yesterday. He is the sweetest, most loving person in the world and he never judges anyone before getting to know them. Even if he decides he _doesn't _like a person, he still makes an effort to treat them with respect." She looked at the faces of the reporters. Some of them had sympathy in their eyes. Turning the picture of Collins back toward her and looking at it, she tried her best not to cry. "I don't understand why someone would take him away, but . . ." She broke off and the reporters seemed to lean forward all at the same time, waiting for her to speak again. Joanne grabbed her hand. " . . . Collins, honey, if you're watching . . . know that I love you more than anything and I'm going to do whatever it takes to bring you back safe and sound. And to whoever has him . . . please don't hurt him." A tear ran down her cheek. "Bring him home . . . _please."_

Angel stepped away from the podium as more tears fell from her eyes. Joanne began leading her through the reporters toward the door as Baker stepped up to the podium.

"If anyone has any information about Thomas Collins' kidnapping, the NYPD encourages you to call our tip line," she said. "Thank you." She quickly made her way to the door, ignoring every question that was shouted at her. She went to the lieutenant's office where Joanne and Maureen had taken Angel.

"You did so well," Joanne told the drag queen. Angel stared at the picture of Collins.

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked, her eyes never leaving her lover's face.

"What do you mean?" Baker asked.

"What if, even after what I said, the kidnapper doesn't feel bad about taking Collins?" There was a silence. Baker took a step toward Angel and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's better to think happy thoughts," she replied. "Trust me."

**For those of you wondering, that huge number up above is one-hudred sixty-nine octillion, five-hundred eighteen septillion, eight-hundred twenty-nine sextillion, one-hundred quintillion, five-hundred forty-four quadrillion. It really is.  
><strong>

**Review please.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I own nothing except the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest. **

Angel remained in the lieutenant's office while the reporters were being forcefully removed from the station. Maureen was holding her hand. She kept staring at the picture of Collins. Baker had told her to think happy thoughts, but that was proving to be easier said than done. The drag queen couldn't help but picture her boyfriend in the worst possible state. She just hated the fact that he was somewhere being held against his will and she couldn't do anything about it.

"How are you holding up?" Baker asked, walking into the office. Angel shrugged, her eyes remaining on the picture. "I'm sure we'll find him. I'm refusing to take anymore cases until we do."

"See, Angel?" Maureen said. "Collins is top priority. He'll be home before we know it." Angel said nothing and looked up at Baker.

"When you told me to think happy thoughts, you sounded like you were speaking from experience," she said. "Were you?"

"Unfortunately, I was," Baker replied. "Four years ago when my husband and I first got engaged, I arrested the biggest drug lord in New York at the time. He was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. About six months after the trial, my husband and I went to the bank to deposit a check to pay for our wedding and the bank was held up by the drug lord's little brother."

"He was mad at you, wasn't he?" Maureen asked.

"Mad is an understatement. Everyone in the bank was held hostage for five hours. He let everyone go except my husband and told me I'd never see him again unless I got his brother out of prison. Then he escaped out of a door in the back of the bank."

"What did you do?" Angel asked.

"I wasn't allowed to do anything. The lieutenant wouldn't put me on the case. I was a complete wreck the entire time he was missing."

"How long was he gone?"

"Four months. He was found in a shed with his hands and feet bound with barbed wire." Baker paused for a moment. "The first case he got when he came back to work after taking some time off was a kidnapping. He couldn't handle the memories of what happened to him and he ended up quitting."

"He was detective?" Baker nodded.

"He's got permanent scars and a severe case of post traumatic stress disorder, but he's getting better. It took me two years to convince him to get help dealing with everything."

"Do you think that will happen to Collins?" Angel's voice was laced with panic. Maureen gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"My goal is to get to him before then."

"Detective Baker," Joanne said, peeking into the office. "Our friends are back and they think they have something." Baker, Maureen, and Angel followed Joanne to Ed's desk. Mark, Roger, Mimi, and Sanders were standing around it. Upon seeing Angel, Mimi ran to her best friend and enveloped her in a hug, which the drag queen returned.

"We saw the press conference," Mimi told her friend. "You were so brave, chica." The hug soon ended and Mimi took Angel's hand in hers.

"What do you have?" Baker asked.

"Angel, you remember that surprise party we had for Collins' birthday, right?" Roger said. Angel nodded. "Well, after we searched everywhere except the university, Mimi remembered that Collins took you two through a parking lot when you had to make sure he got to the loft."

"The parking lot behind the building he teaches in," Angel stated. "He said he always walks through that parking lot because it's the fastest way for him to get off campus."

"Right. So, Mimi took us to that parking lot and we found skid marks on the concrete. We're pretty sure they're from a car speeding off."

"Can you take us to where you found them?" Sanders asked.

"Of course."

"Great. Let's move."

"There's more." Roger looked to Mark. "You want to take this part?"

"We decided to look around the parking lot after we found the skid marks to see if we could find anything else," Mark said, shifting his camera bag to his left shoulder. "While we were doing that, I saw something that looked like the lens of a camera hanging on the building. And, as my friends know, I can spot a camera from a mile away. I walked a little closer to the building just to make sure I was right and then we searched high and low for some sort of security office. When we found that, we caught a security guard that was leaving and told him what had happened to Collins. Then he gave us this." Mark reached into his camera bag and produced a video tape.

"We haven't watched it," Mimi added. "We brought it straight here."

"Okay then," Ed said, standing up. "Who's going where?"

"I could stay here and check out the security tape," Baker suggested. Mark handed her the tape.

"I want to see it," Angel said. Mimi looked at her and saw a serious expression on her face.

"I'm staying with Angel," she stated.

"I will, too," Joanne said.

"I'll go see about the skid marks," Sanders volunteered. He pointed at Mark and Roger. "You two can show me where they are." The roommates nodded and followed Sanders out of the station.

"Ed, are you going to watch this tape with us?" Baker asked.

"No, I think I'll go talk with Arthur Gibson again," Ed replied. "I have a feeling he's hiding something."

"Can I go with you?" Maureen asked. "I really don't trust that guy. Plus, I can be your backup."

"_You?"_

"Hey, I'm tougher than I look." Without warning, Maureen punched Ed in the arm as hard as she could. He let out a small cry of pain before bringing his hand to his arm.

"Maureen!" Joanne exclaimed. "Didn't we have a talk about punching cops?"

"It's fine," Ed assured her, rubbing his arm. He looked to Maureen. "Maybe I _can _use you for backup. That actually hurt." Maureen smiled and skipped out of the station behind Ed.

"There's a t.v. in the lieutenant's office," Baker stated. The three bohemian girls followed her to the office. There, she inserted the tape into the VCR, opened a drawer on the lieutenant's desk, took the remote out of it, and turned the television on. The image of hundreds of college students walking back and forth appeared on the screen.

"This is during the day," Joanne commented. "Collins disappeared sometime in the evening." Baker nodded and fast-forwarded the tape. There was a fifteen minute period of fast-forwarding where the parking lot seemed deserted. A few minutes after that, a familiar figure sped to the bottom of the screen.

"That's Collins!" Angel exclaimed. "I know it is!" Baker rewound the tape a bit before pressing play. The four of them watched in silence as Collins walked through the parking lot. He looked over his shoulder for a moment, but continued to walk.

"I wonder what he saw," Baker said. Collins suddenly stopped walking and was halfway turned around when a car hit him. He flew out of the view of the camera as the car stopped right in the middle of the screen. All four girls gasped loudly.

"Oh my God!" Mimi exclaimed. The door on the driver's side of the car opened and a figure stepped out carrying a blunt object. The figure on the screen walked out of the frame in the direction Collins went after being hit by the car.

"Where did that person go?" Angel asked, not daring to take her eyes off of the screen. "What are they doing to Collins?" The figure suddenly rushed back to the car, got in, and sped off. Another figure ran across the screen, also in the direction of Collins, and out of sight.

"Well, who was that?" Mimi asked. Baker rewound the tape a little and pushed play. The second figure ran across the screen again.

"No idea, but whoever it was is a witness," Baker replied. She thought for a moment before rewinding the tape and pausing it when the car was on the screen. She walked closer to the television and squinted. "QWE9196."

"What?" Angel said.

"That's the license plate number." Baker took her mobile phone from her pocket. The three bohemians stared at her as she quickly dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. "Hey, it's Baker. I need you to run a plate for me. The number is QWE9196." It was quiet for a short while. Baker's eyes suddenly widened. "Are you sure? Okay . . . thanks." She hung up the phone and slammed her fist on the lieutenant's desk. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"What happened?" Joanne asked as Baker began dialing another number. The detective put the phone to her ear.

"That car is registered to Arthur Gibson," she answered.

* * *

><p>"Somebody was in a hurry," Sanders commented as he bent down to look at the concrete of the parking lot. Four, dark skid marks, all varying in size, were about twenty feet away from the door Collins had come out of. Roger was standing beside the detective. Mark was walking around, searching the grassy areas surrounding the parking lot for anything else they could have missed.<p>

"There are more behind us on the other side of the lot," Roger told Sanders. "They look similar to these ones." Sanders stood upright and looked to the door.

"All right then," he said. "My best guess at what happened here is somebody waited for your friend to come out of the building, pulled off, stopped right here, forced him into their car, and then took off again."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"And why not?"

"Collins is a big guy. He can protect himself. He may get hurt in the process, but there's no way someone could just take him. Even if they had a gun he'd still manage to get away."

"You're saying he wouldn't go down without a fight?"

"Not as long as he's able bodied. There's only been one time Collins couldn't defend himself and that's only because he was outnumbered."

"So, whoever took him had to have hurt him somehow. And since you said he'll fight his way out of anything, that person had to have caught him by surprise."

"That makes more sense."

"Wait a minute. Where the hell was security when this was happening?"

"The security office is way on the other side of campus."

"Which means this kidnapping had to have happened in under three minutes or so."

"Roger!" Mark called, running toward the rocker and the detective. He was clutching something in one hand and steading his camera bag with the other. When he got to Roger and Sanders, he was panting slightly.

"What is it, Mark?" Roger asked. The filmmaker held up the black object he was holding. Roger took it and gasped.

"What is it?" Sanders asked.

"It's Collins' beanie," Mark answered.

"Why wasn't it somewhere over here?"

"The storm last night," Roger stated. "It must have been picked up by the wind." Sanders' mobile phone suddenly rang. He answered it while the bohemian boys stared sadly at their friend's head garment.

"Sanders," the detective said into his phone. He listened for a moment. "You're kidding! That lying bastard . . . yeah. I'll call him." Sanders hung up his phone angrily.

"What's going on?" Mark asked.

"We talked with Connor Bennett's adoptive father earlier and it turns out the car that most likely left these skid marks is his." Mark and Roger's mouths dropped open as Sanders stood there, seething.

* * *

><p>Ed knocked on the door of Arthur Gibson's home as Maureen peeked in the windows. The house seemed dark.<p>

"Will you get over here?" Ed asked her.

"What if he's trying to hide or something?" Maureen replied.

"Get over here. Now."

"Why? So I can knock on the door with you? Do you even realize that's getting you nowhere?" Ed rolled his eyes and knocked on the door harder. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Mr. Gibson," Ed called through the door, ignoring Maureen. His knocking soon turned into pounding. "NYPD, open up." There was no answer. Ed sighed heavily and looked to Maureen, who was smirking.

"Maybe you should try ringing the doorbell," she teased. Ed glared at her.

"I _do not _have time for this shit." The detective took a step back and kicked the door in. Maureen's eyes widened and Ed looked back at her as he stepped inside the house. "Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?"

"That was pretty kick-ass," Maureen commented as she followed Ed into the house. A staircase and a hallway were the first things the diva and the detective saw upon entering the house. Arthur suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. He rushed down them and began trying to push the two unwanted visitors out.

"I thought we settled this," he said. "Get out of my house!" Ed noticed slight bruising on the side of Arthur's face.

"Your wife is here, isn't she?" he asked. Arthur shook his head and looked at the floor. "She _was _though, right?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You have a bruise on your face that wasn't there earlier." Arthur looked up at the detective. His expression was angry.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Connor told us what your wife does to him . . . and you," Maureen informed Arthur. His expression softened and his eyes glazed over. "We know she's abusive. Where is she, Mr. Gibson?"

"I . . . don't know," Arthur answered. "Honestly, I don't."

"Do you know where Connor is?"

"I already told you I don't know where either of them are. Will you people _please _just leave me alone? I haven't done anything and I don't _know _anything. What do you want from me?"

"Connor's philosophy professor went missing last night," Ed said.

"And you think he has something to do with it?"

"We're just investigating from every angle, Mr. Gibson."

"How dare you? You have no right to accuse Connor of _anything! _You don't know him! You don't know what he's been through!"

"No one is-"

"Sure, he has a thing for his professor, but he's not hurting anyone!" Arthur interrupted. "You _need_ to go after someone who's committed an _actual crime! _Maybe find the bastard who molested Connor for two weeks straight when he was twelve! That's a criminal, not Connor!"

"You need to calm down, Mr. Gibson," Maureen said.

"Don't tell me what I need to do! You have no idea what goes on in this house! I get that there's a missing person and Connor is close to him, but that doesn't mean he's involved! Even if he _was, _it wouldn't be his fault! He wouldn't be able to control himself! He probably wouldn't even know he did anything! He doesn't need anymore stress in his life!"

"Whoa, what do you mean he wouldn't know if he did anything?" Ed asked.

"Just get out!" Before Ed could respond, his mobile phone rang. He kept his attention on Arthur as he answered the call.

"Green," he said. "Yeah, I'm still here." Maureen watched Ed's mouth drop open. "Is that so? Sanders, you have made my _entire _day. See you soon." Ed hung up his phone and eyed Arthur suspiciously. "Mr. Gibson, is there anything you'd like to tell us?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive."

"In that case, I'm going to need you to turn around."

"What for?"

"You're under arrest." Arthur started to back up. "Do yourself a favor and don't run."

"I . . . I haven't done anything wrong."

"Where is your car, Mr. Gibson?" Arthur looked from Ed to Maureen and back. He turned and started to run up the stairs. He got up three stairs before Ed grabbed the back of his shirt and managed to sling him to the ground.

"I haven't done anything!" Arthur shouted as Ed knelt beside him and flipped him on his stomach. He took a set of handcuffs out of his back pocket. Arthur began squirming.

"Here," Ed said to Maureen, holding the handcuffs out to her while trying to detain Arthur. "Cuff him." Maureen smiled and knelt on the other side of Arthur.

"Best. Day. Ever," she commented.

* * *

><p>Collins sat on the bed in silence. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, but he knew it had to have been over two hours. After Connor had locked him in the room, he heard several things fall over, including the breaking of something made of glass. A few moments after that, Connor came into the room with a tray of food. No words were spoken between them and Collins refused to make eye contact with the boy. He never thought being around Connor would actually cause him to fear for his life.<p>

The tray was on the bedside table, the food untouched. Collins didn't think he could trust Connor anymore. He hadn't heard anything after Connor had brought him lunch. It was completely silent. He couldn't even hear himself breathing. Standing himself up on his crutches, he got to the window and opened the curtains. The cottage was surrounded by woods. He tried opening the window with no luck.

Making his way to the bedroom door, he turned the knob in hopes that Connor had forgotten to lock it on his way out. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't. Staring at the keyhole, he realized he could use a small object to attempt to unlock the door. Of course, he would have to find one. He searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom before moving on to the drawers of the bedside table. He found a bobby pin in one of them. Figuring it would have to do, he went back over to the door, carefully he inserted the bobby pin into the keyhole, and moved it around.

"Please, open," he whispered. After about two minutes, he heard a satisfying click. Slowly removing the bobby pin from the keyhole, he turned the knob and opened the door. If he could have, he would have jumped for joy.

He quietly made his way to the living room. A ceramic lamp had been smashed on the ground. The table had been flipped. The armchair was overturned. The chess pieces were still scattered about. Collins didn't take the time to look at any other damage. He reached the front door, opened it, and stepped out onto the small porch. After carefully getting down the steps and onto the ground, he decided to go forward.

He had been traveling for about an hour when he came to a large creek and he was forced to abandon his path. The temperature was dropping and it was getting dark. The pain in his head was starting to come back, but he knew he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving and nightfall wasn't going to stop him.

After another hour went by, daylight was scarce. Collins' head was throbbing and his muscles were aching, but he kept going. The bottom of one of his crutches got caught on the root of a tree and he fell forward. He lied there for a moment, face down in the dirt. Looking around, he noticed he could barely see in front of him. He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did, and felt around for his crutches. Once he found them, he put a hand behind him and felt the trunk of a tree. He leaned on it before looking to the left and right of him. The wind blew and he shivered. There was no way he could stay in the woods. He didn't know what was out there. A feeling of dismay came over him.

He had to go back.

**Longest. Chapter. Ever. I expect long reviews or I won't update anymore . . . I'm kidding, of course.**

**Review please.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I promised myself this wouldn't be a long chapter . . . I apparently lied.**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins sat against the large tree and contemplated what he should do. If he went back to the cottage, he was risking being caught by Connor. If he stayed in the woods, he could freeze to death or worse. In both of those situations, he was sure he'd never see Angel or any of his friends again. He felt like crying. His thoughts were interrupted by a low growl. He slowly turned his head to the left as his heartbeat quickened. It was quiet for a few seconds before he heard the growl again, louder this time. He stood himself up on his crutches and headed in the direction he had come from, hoping he could find his way back to the cottage in the dark.

The trees around him almost seemed alive, reaching out to grab him. He tried to force himself to look straight ahead, but that was proving to be difficult. He thought back to what Connor had said about darkness. He couldn't recall a time in his adult life when he was actually afraid of the dark. Then again, he was normally in a familiar place surrounded by friends when it was dark. Connor had mentioned that the human mind associates darkness with the unknown. Here he was in an unknown place with who-knows-what there with him. That had to be the reason for his fear now.

When he was a small boy, he couldn't sleep if it was completely dark. He would cry and his mother would come to comfort him. She would sing to him and her voice and the words she sang would stay with him, soothing him until he fell asleep.

"This little light of mine," he sang softly to himself as he continued to trek through the woods on his crutches. "I'm gonna let it shine. Oh, this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine."

He stopped singing and moving when he heard the low growl again. It sounded closer. He slowly and carefully turned around. There was some sort of animal standing a little over twenty feet away from him. Its eyes were yellow and seemed to be glowing. Collins was paralyzed with fear. He didn't dare make a sound. The animal suddenly charged and pounced on him, knocking him to the ground and causing his crutches to fall from beneath his arms. He screamed and covered his face with one of his arms. The animal's teeth sunk into his flesh and he screamed again. He frantically felt around for something to fight the animal off with. When his hand made contact with one of his crutches, he lifted it and, using all the strength he could muster, brought it down on the animal's head. It whimpered and released Collins' arm.

The professor closed his eyes and listened to the animal scurry away. His heart and mind were racing. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. He was one-hundred percent positive he had to go back to the cottage now. His right arm was throbbing with pain, as were his head and leg, but he managed to get to his feet and start moving again, doing his best to ignore the blood that was trickling down his arm.

Collins listened to the sounds around him as he made his through the dark woods. Owls hooted, crickets chirped. He didn't hear anything that sounded like a violent animal, but he was still being as cautious as possible. Fear mixed with the desire to live was the perfect motivator for him to keep going. His body was telling him to slow down, but the concern about another animal attacking him or his fresh wound becoming infected caused him to pick up his pace.

After nearly three hours of trudging through the woods on crutches, he saw the lights of the cottage through the trees. He refused to let himself be relieved until he was inside. It took him another thirty minutes, but he made it onto the porch of the cottage. The second he opened the door and was over the threshold, his body seemed to shut down. He collapsed right next to the overturned armchair, the door still wide open. He was exhausted. He had no idea where his crutches had fallen, he was only slightly aware that the blood from his arm was staining the carpet, and he felt as though he couldn't move any part of him. He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there when he heard footsteps.

"Oh my God!" he heard Connor exclaim. The boy was suddenly at his side. "Professor, what happened to you? Oh no, you're bleeding!"

"Don't . . . touch it," Collins said. His voice was almost inaudible. "Don't move me . . ."

"I have to move you. I can't just leave you on the floor."

"Pain . . . so much pain . . ." Connor rushed from the room. Collins tried his hardest to sit up, but he couldn't. It was as if he was nailed to the floor.

"Don't worry, Professor," Connor said as he returned to Collins' side. "I'll take care of everything."

"Connor . . ." Collins said. Connor shushed him. He felt Connor tie the tourniquet around his arm and inject him with the morphine. Once he thought the pain was at least dulled, Connor took the tourniquet off of his professor's arm and helped him to the couch. He then shut the front door before leaving the room again. Collins couldn't decide whether coming back to the cottage was a good thing. Yes, Connor was concerned that he was hurt and that was working in his favor, but what would happen after the boy was sure he was okay?

"This may sting just a little," Connor stated as he reentered the living room. He had a towel and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in one hand and two small cloths and a roll of gauze in the other. He knelt next to the couch and placed the gauze, the hydrogen peroxide, and one of the cloths on the floor. He then spread the towel out right next to him before taking Collins' hand and slowly pulling his arm toward him, preparing to wipe the excess blood off of it.

"Don't touch it," the professor told him. His voice was louder this time.

"I have to clean the wound, Professor," Connor pointed out. Collins shook his head.

"I have AIDS, Connor. My blood might as well be acid. _Do not _touch it."

"I'm aware of that and that's exactly why I have to do this. I'd never be able to forgive myself if this wound became infected and I could have prevented it." Collins fell silent and allowed the graduate student to clean away most of the blood. He then watched him put the bloody cloth next to him, pick up and open the hydrogen peroxide, and pour a generous amount over the bites on his arm, making sure the arm was over the towel. He winced at the stinging sensation as the liquid did its job. After a short while, Connor dried his professor's arm off with the other small cloth. The boy then picked up the roll of gauze.

"Connor?" Collins said as his student began bandaging his wound.

"Yes, Professor?" Connor replied.

"Did you leave?" The eighteen-year-old looked up at Collins and hesitated before slowly nodding. "Why?"

"I _had _to. I felt . . . terrible for what I did."

"Which would be?"

"I shot at you. I could have hurt you." Connor turned his attention back to Collins' arm. "I needed a few minutes alone to clear my head."

"You were gone for hours."

"Well . . . I made a stop, too."

"Where?"

"The hospital." The boy paused for moment. Collins stared at him, waiting for him to continue. "I've gone to a doctor in New York about my headaches before, but he didn't find anything wrong. I wanted to get a second opinion." He paused again. "After I shot at you . . . I got a really bad headache. I actually blacked out for a while and ended up in my car."

"You blacked out? You seemed all right when you brought me food." Connor's head shot up and he gave Collins a confused look.

"I never brought you food. I meant to, but I blacked out before I could." Collins raised an eyebrow.

"Yes you did. It's on the table in the guest room. You brought it in, put it down, and locked the door again."

"'Again?' What do you mean by that? I didn't lock you in the guest room. Or any room, for that matter." Collins stared at the young boy in disbelief. He seemed completely innocent and genuinely clueless about what Collins had mentioned.

"You . . . you _really _don't remember doing these things?"

"No . . . I don't. I remember running into furniture and knocking things over because the pain was so severe. Other than that, nothing."

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Collins couldn't believe what he was hearing. He recalled a time when Connor attacked another student for tormenting him. He was the only person the boy would talk to about the incident. When he had asked how he was doing the very next day, Connor didn't seem to know what he was talking about. He concluded that his student was simply trying not to remember what happened because it was somewhat painful memory. Now, he wasn't so sure that was the case.

"What did the doctor say about your headaches?" Collins asked.

"He said he'll call me when he gets the results," Connor replied as he finished bandaging his professor's arm. He then stood up. "Would you like to go back to the guest room or would you like to stay out here for a while?"

"I'll stay here. I don't think I can move."

"Can I get you anything before I start tidying up?"

"Morphine." Collins was surprised to hear that come from his mouth. The pain he was in had to be controlling his thoughts. Connor stared at the professor, thinking of how to respond.

"I just gave you morphine, Professor," he reminded Collins.

"You have no idea how much pain I'm in right now. Please, I _need _the morphine." Connor saw the misery in Collins' eyes. He looked like he was going to cry. Without saying another word, the boy gathered the medical supplies that was on the floor and left the room to retrieve the pain medication.

* * *

><p>Ed and the bohemians stood in front of the one-way glass window of the interrogation room Arthur had been put in. He hadn't spoken since he had been arrested, not even to ask for a lawyer or something to drink. He just sat at the table in the room and stared down at his hands while everyone peered at him. It almost seemed like a scene from a day at the zoo, only no one was taping the glass.<p>

"How long has he been here?" Lieutenant Anita Van Buren asked, joining the eight others in front of the window.

"Three and a half hours in a holding cell, two hours in there," Ed replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Over five hours."

"Damn near six. And this is one man who likes to exercise his right to be silent."

"He hasn't said one word since Detective Green read him his rights," Maureen added.

"Questioning him should be fun then," Van Buren commented. Baker then appeared carrying a manila folder.

"This just came for you, Ed," she informed her fellow detective.

"Just put it on my desk," Ed told her. "I'll look at it once I'm finished with this guy."

"Actually, Ed, I don't think you would be the best person to talk to him," Van Buren said. Ed gave her a confused look. "We want him to cooperate, not file a grievance. I'm thinking Baker should do this, she's more sensitive than you are."

"Fine." Ed walked away.

Van Buren gave Baker a look of approval and the female detective walked to the door of the interrogation room. She hesitated before opening the door and entering the room. Arthur glanced up at her and then immediately looked back down at his hands.

"Hi, Mr. Gibson," she said. Arthur didn't speak. "Would you like anything? I can get you some water or something."

"No, thank you," Arthur said quietly. Baker sat down on the other side of the table and stared at the timid man.

"I'm not here to accuse you or Connor of anything," she told him. "I just want to talk to you." Arthur slowly looked up at her and she noticed the bruise on the side of his face. "Can you tell me how you got that bruise?"

"My wife gets angry sometimes," Arthur replied.

"Angry enough to hit you?"

"Yes."

"What about Connor?"

"She hurts him more than me. I try to protect him, I _really_ do."

"I don't doubt that. Do you ever fight her back?"

"No. I was raised never to lay a hand on a woman." Arthur placed his folded hands on the table and looked at them. "I hate that sometimes."

"Because your morals get in the way of you protecting Connor?" The man nodded. "When did the abuse start?"

"About . . . seven months after our wedding."

"Do you know what caused her to start hurting you?"

"We'd been trying to have a baby for a while, but it wasn't happening. We saw a doctor and he told Anna that she would never be able to have a child. She didn't want to believe that, so she just blamed me for her not having a baby yet."

"All of her anger came from a doctor telling her she couldn't have a child?"

"That and her sister called to tell her that she was pregnant. She felt like everything good always happened to her sister because she's younger, so that was the last straw."

"Her anger was fueled by jealousy." Arthur nodded.

"She hit me for the first time after she hung up the phone."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I just thought she needed to get it out of her system, but . . ." Arthur broke off, seemingly afraid to continue.

"But what, Mr. Gibson?" Baker pressed.

"She just . . . kept hitting me. She ended up causing me to fall down the stairs." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "She didn't even come see if I was okay. She just went back to the bedroom."

"So she takes her anger with her sister out on you?" Arthur nodded, his attention still on his hands. "Why does she hurt Connor? She obviously adopted him because she wanted a child, so why abuse him?" Arthur flinched, but Baker pretended not to notice. "Mr. Gibson, when did she start beating Connor?"

"When he was three."

"And why did she start beating him?"

"I . . . don't know." Arthur touched the bruise on his face. "The beatings got worse when he told us he was gay."

"When was that?"

"When he was twelve going on thirteen." Arthur froze for a moment.

"What's wrong, Mr. Gibson?" Baker asked. The man looked up at her for the first time. His eyes were sad and held a great deal of shame.

"Have you ever had to . . . comfort someone because they were plagued with nightmares that dealt with something you couldn't even _begin _to understand?"

"I have, unfortunately."

"So you know what it's like to feel like it's your fault?" Baker immediately had to fight back tears. She cleared her throat and managed to maintain her composure.

"What are you getting at?" she inquired.

"After Connor came out, Anna spent a lot of time doing research. I knew she'd never tell me about it, so I didn't bother asking. Maybe I should have . . ."

"Did you ever figure out what she was researching?" Arthur seemed to be in deep thought. "Mr. Gibson?"

"Pedophiles . . . she had a whole list," he replied, his voice soft. "I just figured she made the list so she could warn Connor to stay away from them."

"But that wasn't the truth?"

"Some of them were crossed out with black ink and some were crossed out with red ink. Black meant they were interested in children thirteen and over, red ink meant nine and under. The ones who were interested in ten, eleven, and twelve-year-olds had green check marks beside them." Arthur's eyes filled with tears. "One of the names had a check mark by it and was circled." The tears were pushing their way out of Arthur's eyes. "For two weeks, Anna let that sick bastard come into our home and do whatever the hell he felt like to Connor." He wiped some of the tears from his cheeks. "I was working late for those weeks and she knew that."

"Mr. Gibson-"

"If I hadn't agreed to work . . . I could have been there to stop it . . . it's my fault . . ."

"Mr. Gibson, don't blame yourself," Baker told him. "I'm sure Connor doesn't." Arthur nodded and continued to wipe his tears away, trying to calm himself down.

"When he finally told me what happened, he asked me if God was punishing him for being a homosexual," he said.

"Why would he ask you that?"

"Because that's what Anna told him." Baker placed a hand over one of Arthur's hands. "He ran away and hid for a week. I have no idea where he went, but I was glad he left for a little while."

"When did he come back?"

"The day after his thirteenth birthday. That man didn't come around once he found out Connor was thirteen. He wasn't interested in him any more." Arthur looked down at the table. "The whole thing completely ruined him. He was never the same."

"The detective that brought you here said you said something about Connor not knowing he did anything wrong if he was involved in Thomas Collins' kidnapping." Arthur's attention snapped to Baker.

"I thought you said you weren't going to accuse him of anything," he reminded her.

"I'm not, I'd just like you to clarify that. Would you?" Arthur gave a slight nod.

"When he came back home after hiding for a week, he started getting headaches. They were mild at first, but they progressively became worse."

"How bad did they get?"

"He would go long periods of time without realizing he did anything, including moving from the spot he was in. And he . . . didn't seem like himself."

"What do you mean?"

"Normally, Connor is very quiet and obedient, but sometimes after a bad headache he's confident and slightly defiant. His entire personality changes. Almost like he's a completely different person. I took him to see a doctor, but he couldn't find anything physically wrong with him." Before Baker could respond, Ed burst into the room, clutching the manila folder Baker had given him in his hand.

"Mr. Gibson, I have three questions for you and they're _very _important," he said quickly. "Is your wife's sister's name Carrie?"

"Yes," Arthur answered.

"Did your wife take your last name?"

"Yes, she did."

"What is her maiden name?" Arthur stared at Ed for a long moment.

"Why?" he asked.

"Please answer the question. Is her maiden name Bennett?" Arthur looked to Baker for some sort of guidance.

"Is it?" she asked. Arthur hesitated before nodding. Baker took her hand off of Arthur's and turned to her colleague. "Ed, what does his wife's maiden name have to do with anything?" Ed walked toward her and gave her the folder. She opened it. "The case from Vermont?"

"Connor wasn't adopted," Ed said, staring directly at Arthur as he spoke. "His aunt kidnapped him."

**Review please.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Next chapter here! To that one review who's pen name escapes me at the moment: DO NOT PUNCH SMALL CHILDREN! IT'S FROWNED UPON AND IT MAKES ME SAD!**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Arthur sat completely still, refusing to look anywhere other than his hands as Baker read through the file. Ed was glaring at the nervous man. It was dead silent. Baker soon finished the file and closed the folder. She then sighed and looked at Arthur. Outside the room, the bohemians waited in anticipation for something to happen.

"You and your wife are Connor's aunt and uncle?" she asked. Arthur gave a small nod. "Does _he _know that?"

"Of course he doesn't," Ed chimed in, folding his arms. "They kidnapped and brainwashed him." He placed his hands on the table and leaned toward Arthur. "You didn't think it was fair that you had to suffer so much abuse, so you brought someone else into your home to take some of it, didn't you?"

"That's not true," Arthur said quietly. "I saved his life."

"By taking him away from his mother?"

"You don't understand . . ."

"Then explain it to me!" The volume of Ed's voice caused Arthur to jump. "How were you saving him by taking him away from the one person who could have shown him any love in this world? Why would _anybody _do that to a child?"

"I-"

"I don't want to hear another word out of you unless it's an explanation," Ed interrupted. Arthur shifted in his seat and remained silent. "Nothing to say? Fine then." Ed snatched the folder off of the table and headed toward the open door.

"She would have killed him," Arthur said, causing Ed to stop in his tracks. He turned to face Arthur, who was looking up at him. The detective closed the door and walked back over to the table.

"What does that mean?" Baker asked. Arthur looked to her and said nothing. "Mr. Gibson, this may be the only chance you have to tell your side of the story."

"If I hadn't come up with the idea of taking Connor, Anna would have killed him," Arthur said. Ed and Baker gave him an expecting look. "Carrie left her home in Louisiana and came to our home in Vermont to get away from her husband. He was a drunk and when he drank, he was horrible to her. She brought Connor with her and I could just see the jealousy in Anna's eyes every time she looked at the two of them."

"Did she try to hurt Connor at all while he and his mother were staying with you?" Ed asked.

"I don't know." Arthur's attention went to the table. "Her jealousy eventually got the best of her and she snuck into the room Carrie and Connor were in . . . with my gun. She was going to shoot Connor while he was sleeping . . . he was only two-years-old."

"And you stopped her?" Baker guessed.

"Carrie actually woke up and pleaded with her. I think she felt her presence in the room."

"Did your wife say anything?"

"She said, 'If I can't have a baby, you shouldn't be able to.'"

"She was willing to kill her nephew just because she didn't have a child of her own?" Arthur nodded. "How exactly did you save his life?"

"I told Anna that it was the perfect opportunity to have a child . . . that if we took Connor, we could raise him as our own. Thankfully, she agreed with me."

"What happened to Carrie?"

"Anna gave her two days to pack her things and leave. She only left for the sake of her son. Anna knew she would go to the police, so she tipped them off about Carrie's condition and then said we had to leave Vermont."

"What condition?" Ed asked.

"Carrie is a paranoid schizophrenic and she went off her medication when she was pregnant with Connor."

"That's why the police dismissed her case," Baker stated.

"Well, Mr. Gibson, your story is consistent with what Carrie told the police," Ed said. "Do you happen to know where she is now?"

"She's still in Vermont," Arthur replied. "She's been living at Lavender Meadows Mental Hospital ever since the police turned her away." There was a knock on the door. Ed and Arthur watched Baker as she walked to the door and opened it. Angel was on the other side.

"Connor's in Vermont right now," she said. She had a shocked expression on her face.

"How do you know that?" Arthur asked her. She walked into the room.

"Collins and I were going to let Connor stay with us for a while. When Collins called to tell me he was on his way home the night he disappeared, he said Connor wanted to spend spring break at his safe house in Vermont like he does every year."

"Where in Vermont?" Baker asked.

"I have no idea." Angel and the two detectives turned their attention to Arthur, who had a confused look on his face.

"Mr. Gibson, do you know where Connor's safe house is?" Ed asked.

"I didn't even know he had one," Arthur replied. "He always told us he was going out of town with friends. Well . . . I suppose I _did _suspect he was lying."

"Why?"

"Connor doesn't _have _friends. He keeps to himself most of the time."

"Maybe that's why you didn't know he had a house in Vermont. He kept it to himself."

"Connor had to be one of the last people to see Collins before he disappeared," Angel stated. She thought for a moment. "The person on the tape . . ."

"The one who was driving Mr. Gibson's car?" Baker asked, causing Arthur's eyes to widen.

"No, the one who ran. Do you think that could have been Connor? I mean, Mr. Gibson basically said that he's . . . in love with Collins. He could have witnessed the car hitting him and rushed to save him."

"My car?" Arthur said. "Someone hit Connor's professor with _my _car?"

"Yes, and it was caught on tape," Baker replied. Arthur put his head in his hands.

"Oh my God . . . I didn't think she was serious . . ."

"She as in your wife?" Ed asked. Arthur nodded. "Did she tell you she was going to do something?" Arthur looked up.

"Like I just said, Connor keeps to himself most of the time. I became concerned, so I went through his room to figure out what he did when he was alone. I found two notebooks. One was filled with love poems and the other was filled with his fantasies, all about Professor Collins. I made the mistake of showing them to Anna and now she thinks he's to blame for Connor's homosexuality. She believes that by getting rid of him, she'll 'cure' Connor."

"Homosexuality is _not _an illness," Angel stated angrily.

"She doesn't think it's an illness. She thinks the devil is possessing Connor's body."

"So, she's a religious nut on a mission to kill a college professor just because her nephew is fond of him?" Baker asked. Arthur simply nodded. "Connor probably knows what she's trying to do."

"If that _was _him on the tape, then he had to be the one who took Collins, but not to hurt him," Angel said. "He's trying to keep him safe."

"We find the kid, we find our missing professor."

"How the hell do we do that?" Ed asked. "All we know is that he's in Vermont." The detectives and Angel were silent, all thinking of possible ways to track Connor down. Arthur was still in shock that his wife had actually gone through with her murderous scheme. He suddenly gasped.

"She knows Connor ruined her plan," Arthur said, breaking the silence. The three others looked to him. "Before my wife left again, she was in Connor's room looking for something. When she found it, she practically ran down the stairs. She was mumbling something I didn't quite catch right as she was slamming the front door. She's trying to find him and if she does . . . oh God . . ."

"Do you know what she was looking for?" Angel asked.

"No. She had a piece of paper in her hand when she was leaving. That's all I know."

"Would you be willing to give us permission to search Connor's room?" Ed asked.

"If it will help save him and his professor, then by all means do it."

* * *

><p>Collins rubbed his eyes as he opened them. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. He was certain he was still on the couch. The first sight he saw after taking his hands away from his eyes was Connor. He gasped and put a hand over his heart. The boy was standing over him. He seemed to be glaring at him.<p>

"Connor, you scared the hell out of me," he said. "How long have you been standing there?" He received no answer. Only the same glare. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Silence. "Hello? Connor?"

"My name _is not _Connor," the boy told him. "It's Albert." Collins' eyes widened and he slowly sat upright on the couch. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would come out. "You remember me, don't you? The last time we had a conversation was after that . . . incident with those students. You called me Connor then, too."

"Your name . . . _is _Connor." Without warning, Connor grabbed Collins' injured arm and squeezed it. The professor let out a cry of pain.

"My name is Albert. Connor isn't here right now. Do you understand that?" The boy tightened his grip.

"Please, you're hurting me . . ."

"Do you understand?" Collins nodded and Connor's grip grew stronger. "Say it. Say you understand."

"I . . . I understand." His arm was released and he hugged it to his body, forcing himself not to cry. He looked up at Connor. There was something different about the eighteen-year-old. His eyes were angry, his voice was slightly deeper, he seemed more violent. It was almost as if he was someone else.

"Why are you here?" Connor asked. Collins dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Connor brought me here," he replied. "Do you know where he is?"

"I sent him away."

"Why?"

"I don't trust you. You want to hurt him."

"No, I don't. I don't want to hurt him."

"Then why did you scold me for protecting him?"

"I . . . I never-"

"You told me I was wrong for attacking that guy," Connor interrupted. "Connor has gone through _so much_ and those students treating him like shit was the last thing he needed. I was protecting him and you told me not to do it again. Why?" Collins was at a loss for words. Connor opened the small drawer on the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Collins asked. The boy said nothing as took his pistol out of the drawer. He put it to Collins' head. The professor's heart sank. "Don't . . . please, don't . . ."

"You're just like everyone else," Connor said. "All you want to do is hurt Connor. Well, it ends _now." _

"Albert . . . I don't want to hurt him." Connor put his finger on the trigger and Collins closed his eyes. "Wait . . . just let me talk to Connor. Let me apologize to him."

"You won't mean it."

"I will. I _will _mean it. Let me talk to him. Please . . . I want to tell him I'm sorry." Connor hesitated before bringing the gun to his side. Collins opened his eyes.

"If you try to hurt him, you'll have to deal with me," the boy warned.

He placed the pistol back in the drawer and left the room. Collins' heart was beating faster than it had been after he was attacked by the animal in the woods. He couldn't bring himself to move. He just sat there, waiting. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Professor?" Collins' eyes snapped open at the sound of Connor's voice. He watched his student walk toward him. His kind eyes had returned.

"Connor . . . is that you?" Collins asked. Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Who else would it be?" Collins stared at the boy in fear. "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Connor . . ." The professor couldn't say anything more.

"I think you're just tired. Let's get you back to your room, okay?"

Collins could do nothing except nod.

**If that confused anyone, feel free to ask questions. Predictions are encouraged.**

**Review please.**


	15. Chapter 15

**I own nothing except the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins was still trying to process what he had just witnessed as Connor helped him into bed. He remained in an upright position and kept his eyes on his student. There had to be a rational explanation for his sudden change in behavior. He could be bipolar, but that wouldn't clarify why he'd called himself "Albert." Collins was sure he wasn't going to get much sleep with this on his mind as well as knowing he needed to come up with some sort of escape plan that didn't involve him going into the woods. He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to risk staying even one more minute with Connor. The boy had proven himself to be dangerously unpredictable.

"Would you like some soup, Professor?" Connor asked as he leaned the crutches on the wall.

"No, thanks for offering though," Collins replied. There was a silence. Connor was staring at Collins' arm. Fearing that the boy might ask if he left the cottage, Collins spoke again. "Connor, you love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. More than anything in the world."

"Then you realize you can't keep me here forever, right?"

"I do. I'll keep you here as long as I can though."

"This is kidnapping."

"No, it isn't. I'm protecting you."

"From what?" Connor fell silent and Collins stared at him, waiting for him to speak. The eighteen-year-old sighed sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"I'm protecting you from the person who tried to kill you," he said.

"And who might that be?" Collins asked.

"My mom." Collins' eyes widened. "She knows how I feel about you and she thinks if you're gone . . . my feelings will go away, too."

"So, she thinks I'm the cause of you being gay?"

"It seems that way. I tried to explain why she's wrong, but she never listens to me. I knew she was planning something and that's why I waited for you to come out of the building. I brought you here because I know it's a safe place for you to lay low for a while."

"And severing the phone line was part of my protection?"

"I didn't sever the phone line. I don't know what happened to it." Collins studied Connor's face for any signs of deceit. He found nothing but innocence in the boy's eyes. He had to be telling the truth.

"Well, thank you for saving my life."

"Anytime." Connor smiled at his professor. Another silence passed between them. Collins went back to his thoughts. If Connor hadn't severed the phone line, could that mean Albert had? Who _was_ Albert anyway?

"Connor, does the name Albert mean anything to you?" Collins asked. A look of confusion replaced Connor's smile.

"Not really," he answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Well . . . I had an imaginary friend named Albert when I was younger, up until the age of twelve."

"Tell me about him."

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"What's there to tell? He was invisible, I decided he was older and stronger than me, not to mention braver. He was like my invisible guardian angel."

"Did he protect you?"

"He was imaginary, so no."

"I'm not speaking literally. I mean, when you played with him, was he protecting you?" Connor thought for a moment.

"Yes. When I felt like being creative, I would often make up games where I would be captured and Albert would have to save me. He never failed." The boy smiled a little as he thought of those happy moments from his childhood.

"Did you ever . . . pretend _you _were Albert?" Collins asked.

"Sometimes." Another silence passed between them. "Can I share something with you, Professor?"

"I suppose."

"I'll be right back." Connor then stood up and left the room.

Collins looked around as he continued to think of possible reasons Connor's personality had changed so much. He noticed the tray of food that had been on the bedside table was gone and the medical bag was in its place. It was open. Collins stared longingly at the small bottle of morphine that was peeking out of it. He forced himself not to reach for it even though the desire to do so threatened to overpower him. This was exactly what he feared would happen. His body was becoming reliant on the drug.

"I can't give you anymore, Professor," Connor said as he reentered the room. Collins tore his attention away from the morphine and looked to Connor. He had a manila envelope in his hand. "I've given you two doses already."

"I wasn't thinking about it," Collins lied. "I was thinking of something completely different." Connor sat down in the chair. "What's in the envelope?"

"Information about my real mom. My dad gave it to me a few weeks ago."

"That's what you want to share with me?"

"Yes. I haven't actually looked inside the envelope yet. I've been too afraid."

"Why?"

"Because . . . what if I open this and find out my life used to be worse than it is now? I want to know why I was adopted, but I'm afraid of what I'll find out. I've been contemplating throwing it away."

"Connor, if you do that, you'll never know the truth and you'll be doomed to wonder forever." Connor stared at the envelope. "I could read it for you and tell you what it says, if you want me to."

"You would do that?" Collins nodded and held his hand out. Connor placed the envelope in his professor's hand and waited patiently as he opened it. As he slid the papers out of the envelope, a photograph of a woman holding a small baby fell onto his lap. He picked it up and looked at the back of it.

"Carrie, twenty-two, and Conner, two months, 1972," he read. He then looked to Connor. "Your name is spelled C-O-N-N-O-R, isn't it?"

"Yes," Connor replied. "Why?"

"It's spelled with an E on this picture." Collins gave the photo to Connor, who frowned at the words on the back.

"That's odd." His frown became a smile when he turned the picture around. "She's beautiful . . . why did she give me up?"

"I don't think she was ever fully out of your world." Collins was flipping through the papers, skimming them.

"What do you mean?"

"Your dad's name is Arthur Gibson, right?" Connor nodded. "There are copies of letters between him and your mom here."

"Really?"

"Yes. She must have been keeping tabs on you. From the looks of it, she knew about the abuse." Connor looked away from the photo of him and his mother.

"She knew?" Collins nodded as he skimmed a few more letters. "Then why didn't she come for me? Why didn't she try to help at all?"

"She mentions Lavender Meadows a lot."

"As in Lavender Meadows Mental Hospital?" Collins looked to his student.

"You know that place?"

"It's just past the market. Is that where she is?"

"I guess. If she is, maybe she wasn't allowed to be by herself or travel anywhere and that's why she couldn't help you." Collins passed the letters to Connor and the boy began reading them. The only thing in the professor's hand now was a copy of a police report. He began carefully reading through it.

"She's left-handed like me," Connor said. Collins looked up at him. "I can tell by the way her letters slant when she writes." The professor nodded and went back to reading the report. Once he finished, his eyes were wide. He didn't know how to tell Connor about what he had just read. The boy was smiling at the kind words in his mother's letters.

"Connor . . ." he said. His student looked to him. "Your mom . . . she didn't give you up . . . you were taken from her."

"What?" Connor replied.

"This is a police report and according to it, Anna Gibson, the woman you've been calling 'Mom' for fifteen years, is actually your aunt . . . and she kidnapped you." Connor didn't move or blink. He didn't even seem to be breathing.

"That . . . that _can't _be true."

"It's all right here."

"It can't be! I don't believe it! I won't . . ." Connor closed his eyes, dropped the letters and the photo of his mother, and clutched his head with both of his hands. He then began rocking back and forth. "It's not true . . . it's not true . . ."

"Connor . . . are you having a headache?" Collins asked his student. Connor gave a slight nod as he continued to rock in the chair. "Just calm down, okay?"

"It can't be true . . ." the boy said.

"Connor . . . would you like to see her?" Connor stopped rocking and opened his eyes. He kept his hands on the sides of his head. "You can meet her. You know where she lives. Would you like that?"

"I . . . I would." Connor slowly took his hands away from his head. He blinked a few times. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"My headache is gone."

"Do you normally get them when you're upset about something?"

"Or frightened. Pretty much whenever I don't want to be somewhere or in a certain situation." Collins nodded and watched Connor pick up the photo he'd dropped. He stared at it for a long moment. "Will you come with me? I don't think I can do this by myself." Collins took hold of Connor's hand.

"And I won't make you," he promised.

* * *

><p>Arthur, Ed, Baker, and the bohemians traveled in three cars to get to the Gibson household. Sanders was back at the station manning the tip line. The first thing Arthur noticed as they walked toward his house was that his car was still missing. Knowing what could and would happen if his wife got to Connor and Collins before the police did made him more anxious with each passing minute. He led the eight others up the stairs and down the hall to Connor's room. The door was wide open. Arthur turned on the lights as he entered. Inside the room, there were folders, notebooks, and textbooks scattered about. The bed had even been moved.<p>

"Whatever your wife has, she turned this room upside down to find it," Baker commented.

"Okay, there's nine of us, so this shouldn't take that long," Ed said. "Let's get to work."

Everyone took a section of the room and started looking through the mess Arthur's wife created. They looked through the drawers of Connor's dresser and desk, in his closet, and in the lock box that had been broken into. They weren't even sure of what they were looking for, but they didn't want to leave anything in the room unchecked. Mimi and Roger decided to look through the many notebooks that were lying around to see if they could find an address to Connor's safe house. Among the notebooks was a red one, which Mimi picked up. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Oh. My. God," she said, not able to tear her eyes away from the page. Everyone looked at her.

"What is it?" Baker asked.

"This is probably the most disturbing thing . . ." Mimi turned the page of the notebook and her mouth dropped open. She slammed the notebook shut as Angel tried to peek at the page.

"I want to see it," the drag queen said.

"No, you don't, chica. Trust me. I'm saving your eyes." Mimi tossed the notebook aside and the search resumed. An hour went by and they still hadn't found anything, but since this was proving to be their only option, they refused to stop. Angel noted that if the bed was moved, something had to be around it. She got down on her knees and looked underneath the bed. Finding nothing, she stood up and lifted the mattress. A small card was under it. She picked it up. It was a business card. She recognized the name on it.

"Mr. Gibson, has Connor ever come in contact with Helen Adams?" she asked. Arthur walked away from the bookshelf he was searching with Mark and over to her. He studied the card.

"The realtor?" he replied. He shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Keep it, Angel," Baker said. "She could have helped Connor get his safe house and we may need to question her." Angel nodded and Arthur went back to the bookshelf, which Mark was pulling books off of and opening them. Arthur took the books Mark checked and rechecked them. The two of them used this system until they were down to five books, a dictionary and four encyclopedias. Mark picked up the dictionary and immediately noticed a magazine had been placed inside it. He took the magazine out and looked at the title.

"'Dream Homes,'" he read out loud.

"I remember this thing," Arthur said taking the magazine from Mark. "Connor was always looking through this when he was younger." He flipped some of the pages while he and Mark skimmed them.

"Wait, go back!"

"What?"

"I saw something!" Everyone's attention was now on Mark and Arthur as Arthur turned back a few pages. Mark suddenly pointed at one of the houses on the page. "Right there! That one's circled!"

"And the realtor who sold it is Helen Adams," Arthur said. Ed took out his mobile phone and dialed Sanders' number.

"Connor had to have gotten this place before he was eighteen," Joanne pointed out. "Why would she sell a house to a minor?"

"She's the only one who can tell us," Baker responded.

"Sanders," Ed said into his phone. "I need a home address for Helen Adams."

**Review please. **


	16. Chapter 16

**I miscounted people in the last chapter. It's been fixed though. Also, this is another long chapter. That is all.**

**I own nothing except the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

The three cars parked in front of a stunningly large house. No one spoke as they exited the cars. The nine of them stared at the house in awe. After the initial shock of the greatness of the house wore off, they made their way to the porch. Ed rang the doorbell and nothing happened for about two minutes. He then knocked on the door and it slowly opened, revealing a little girl no older than six. She stared up at the nine strangers. Ed knelt in front of her so he was her height.

"Hi there," he said pleasantly.

"Hi," the child replied.

"Is your mommy here?" The girl nodded and walked away. Ed stood up when she returned to the door, holding her mother's hand. "Helen Adams?"

"Yes?" Helen replied.

"We're with the NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions." Helen's eyes widened and she looked down at her daughter.

"You go finish watching the movie with Daddy, okay?" she said. The little girl nodded and scurried away. Helen stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. "You're _all _with the NYPD?"

"No, only myself and Detective Green," Baker said. "I'm Detective Baker."

"And the rest of you are . . .?"

"They will be more affected by your answers to our questions than we will."

"Can I ask what this about? Have I broken a law?"

"We're not here to arrest you, Mrs. Adams," Ed assured her. "We just need to ask you about a house you sold."

"I've sold _many _houses, Detective. You'll have to be more specific." Arthur stepped toward Helen and took his wallet out of his back pocket. Out of the wallet he took a picture of Connor. He gave it to Helen, who studied it.

"I don't know when, but at some point you sold a house to that boy," Arthur said. "He's my nephew and he just recently turned eighteen."

"Meaning he would have been a minor when you sold him the house," Baker added. "Do you remember him?"

"Of course I do," Helen answered, handing the picture back to Arthur. "He's the only person who's ever threatened me if I didn't sell."

"'Threatened you?'" Ed replied.

"That can't be right," Arthur said. "Connor is a sweet boy. He would never threaten or hurt anyone. He just doesn't have it in him."

"Wait . . . _his _name's Connor?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Baker asked.

"It's just . . . after he threatened me he said, 'Connor needs this house.' I assumed he was trying to purchase it for someone named Connor."

"He was referring to himself in the third person?" Helen nodded and Baker turned to Arthur. "Does that happen often?"

"No, I've never witnessed him do that," Arthur replied.

"How long ago did you sell Connor the house, Mrs. Adams?" Ed asked. Helen thought for a short while.

"Four years, I believe," she said. "He signed paperwork and everything." Ed made a motion to Mark, who stepped forward with the magazine. He turned to the page the circled house was on and held the magazine out to Helen.

"Is that the house you sold him?"

"Yes, it is."

"What part of you thought it was right to sell a house to a fourteen-year-old?" Baker asked.

"I already told you, he threatened me and I was pregnant at the time. I wasn't about to take any chances."

"Did you go to the police?" Helen shook her head. "And why not?"

"I didn't hear from the kid again after that, so I just dropped it. I had more important things on my mind. Is he in trouble or something?" Ed and Baker glanced at each other.

"Thank you for cooperating, Mrs. Adams," Baker told the realtor.

"Have a good night," Ed added. He and Baker then walked down the porch steps with the seven others not far behind them. When they reached the cars, Ed did a quick head count before turning his attention to Mark. "There's an address for the house in that magazine, right?"

"Yes," the filmmaker replied.

"Then we'll drop you all off at your respective homes and-"

"No," Angel interrupted. "I'm going with you. I have to know Collins is okay."

"Angel, I know you want to see him, but you should _really _try to get some sleep," Baker told her.

"That's not going to happen. I know I'll be up all night worrying. I want to go with you."

"We _all _want to go," Maureen stated, speaking for the bohemians and Arthur. "You might as well agree because you're never going to be able to stop us." Both detectives sighed heavily.

"Fine," Ed said. "You can come, but _do not _get in the way. It could get dangerous and I don't want anybody getting hurt on my watch, got it?" Everyone answered affirmatively and began piling into the cars.

"I'll swing by the station, get Sanders, and then I'll be right behind you," Baker informed Ed.

"I'll ride with you," Angel said to Baker. "You know what I'm going through right now." Baker nodded and smiled a little. Mimi followed Angel and got into the car Baker was driving. Ed and Joanne were going to drive the others.

"Call me when you've got Sanders and I'll give you the address," Ed told his fellow detective. Baker nodded and pulled off.

* * *

><p>Until he was in a car being driven away from the cottage, Collins had no idea it was on a hill. There was a pathway to get to and from the cottage easily. Had he known that, his earlier attempt at escaping wouldn't have failed. He watched Connor as he drove. The boy had a tight grip on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead as if he was afraid to look anywhere else. It was completely silent and seemed like it was midnight rather than nine o' clock. There weren't very many streetlights on the road. Collins thought of being in the woods alone and unconsciously began humming.<p>

The twenty minute drive to Lavender Meadows Mental Hospital felt like an hour. Connor pulled into the parking lot and stopped right in front of the doors. He sat there in silence for a moment before looking at Collins.

"I'll let you out here, so you don't have to walk as much," he said. Collins nodded, opened the door, and, putting his crutches on the ground first, got out of the car. He shut the door and hobbled into the hospital. The main lobby was stunningly clean. Upon seeing the crippled professor, the female receptionist behind the information desk stopped sorting the papers that were in her hands and watched him approach her.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm here to see Carrie Bennett," Collins replied. The receptionist's mouth dropped open and Collins waited for her to say something.

"Are you . . . _sure _about that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, Carrie . . . she doesn't get visitors. Ever."

"You're kidding."

"It's true. She used to get letters a while ago, but they just stopped coming one day. Are you an old friend of Carrie's?"

"No, I'm one of her son's college professors." The receptionist covered her mouth and squealed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Her son? You know her son?"

"He's here with me. He's parking the car right now." The receptionist put the papers down on the desk and came from behind it.

"Follow me." Collins decided it was better not to ask questions and followed her. "I should tell you no one is allowed to visit past ten."

"That shouldn't be a problem." The receptionist walked at a brisk pace and constantly had to slow down once she remembered that Collins was on crutches. She led him to a large room. There were quite a few people sitting around. Collins assumed some of them were patients and some were visitors.

"There she is," the receptionist said, pointing at a woman who was sitting on a couch alone. She was looking down at something. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"No, it's fine," Collins told her. "Her son should be coming in the building soon. Could you bring him here when he does? His name is Connor."

"Of course I can do that." The receptionist quickly left the room. Collins stared at Connor's mother for a moment before making his way toward the chairs that were in front of the couch she was sitting on. He saw that she was looking at a small photo album. He stood there for a while before deciding he should speak.

"Um . . . Carrie Bennett?" he said. Carrie slowly looked up at him. "You _are _Carrie Bennett, aren't you?"

"I am," Carrie replied. She had a bit of southern drawl. Collins carefully sat down and propped his crutches on the side of the chair.

"Mrs. Bennett-"

"_Miss _Bennett," Carrie interrupted. "I'm divorced."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm _happily _divorced." Carrie smiled at Collins, letting him know he could relax. He smiled back. "Well, you know who _I _am, but who might _you _be?"

"My name is Thomas Collins. I'm here to talk to you about your son." Carrie closed her photo album and eyed Collins suspiciously. "You see, he-"

"Where are you from?" Carrie interrupted.

"New York."

"Well, I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing, Mr. Collins."

"What does that mean?"

"My son . . . is dead." Collins' eyes widened. "He died five years ago."

"No," Collins said. "No, he didn't. Why would you think that?"

"My little boy was taken from me by my sister and my brother-in-law started sending me letters after I was admitted here. He wrote about so much abuse, I knew my baby wouldn't survive for very long. I wrote in one of my letters that if he died, I didn't want to be notified by mail. A little while after his thirteenth birthday, the letters stopped. My son is dead, Mr. Collins. It was hard to accept, but I did it."

"Miss Bennett, listen to me," Collins pleaded. "I know your son. I know him. I'm one of his college professors. He's a very sweet and intelligent boy. He came here with me because he wants to know who you are." As he spoke, Collins saw that Connor had finally entered the building and the receptionist was pointing at his mother. He walked very slowly toward the couch, stopping about two feet away from it. "He was punished for asking about you, but that didn't stop him. He's determined to know who his mother is."

"He . . . he's alive?"

"He is. And he _really _wants to meet you."

"Where is he right now?"Carrie's eyes were full of hope. In contrast, Connor's eyes reflected fear. What if his mother didn't want him?

"He's behind you."

Collins' words echoed in Carrie's ears as she turned to look behind her, making eye contact with Connor. She quickly stood up as he walked toward her. Tears filled her eyes as she brought her hands to her mouth. Connor, too, had tears in his eyes. The two of them just stared at each other.

"Connor . . ." Carrie said after a while, taking her hands away from her mouth.

"Hi, Mom . . ." Connor replied. Carrie wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as humanly possible. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder. The boy began sobbing and his mother held him tighter.

"Shh . . . it's okay," Carrie soothed, placing a hand on the back of Connor's head. Tears fell from her eyes. "I've got you . . . Mamma's here . . ." Connor lifted his head and looked into his mother's eyes as she wiped the tears from his cheeks. They held nothing but love.

"You're even more beautiful in person," Connor told her. She smiled at him and they sat down on the couch. Taking hold of her son's hand, Carrie studied him.

"My God," she said. "Look at you. You're all grown up." She looked to Collins, who was watching them with a smile on his face. "Thank you for bringing him to me."

"No problem," Collins replied. Carrie turned her attention back to Connor and wiped her tears away with her free hand.

"Connor . . . I want you to know that I would have _never _left you with your Aunt Anna if I hadn't been forced to. I love my sister, but she's emotionally unstable and very dangerous."

"That's what I don't get," Connor said. "I remember you telling me you loved me and then leaving me in an orphanage." Carrie shook her head.

"I left you at Anna and Arthur's house. Anna convinced you that you were left in an orphanage. You may have been a smart little boy, but you were still very impressionable."

"If you don't mind me asking, how dangerous and emotionally unstable _is _your sister?" Collins asked. Carrie looked to him.

"She actually killed our cat when we were in grade school after our mother bought me new shoes because my feet grew."

"She killed a cat?" Connor asked, his eyes wide.

"Set him on fire. I knew it was only a matter of time before she hurt _me. _Fortunately, I was wrong about that." Carrie looked back at Connor. "I don't want to talk about Anna. I want to talk about you, Connor. Do you realize what a brave boy you are?"

"I'm not really that brave." The boy was looking down at his and Carrie's joined hands. "I'm the weakest person I know."

"You are _not _weak. Connor, look at me." Connor slowly looked up at his mother. "Anybody who goes through what you've been through and lives to tell the tale is strong. Most definitely stronger than the person who put them through it."

"If I'm strong, shouldn't I be able to fight back?"

"It's not about fighting, it's about survival. But if you happen to _need _to fight in order to survive, so be it." Carrie placed a hand on the side of Connor's face. "I'm just _so _happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you, too, Mom. I have so many questions. There's so much to learn about you."

"Well, ask away." Connor thought for a long moment. He was still a bit shocked that he was with his mother. He had wanted to meet her for years and now that he was, he wanted to learn all there was to know about her.

"Where are you from?" he asked. Carrie smiled at him.

"That would have been my first question, too," she said. "I was born in Augusta, Georgia and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. Hence, my accent."

"Aunt Anna's accent isn't as strong as yours."

"She's been away from New Orleans longer than I have." Connor nodded and thought of his next question.

"Do you like to read?"

"Oh, yes, I _love _to read. I'm very fond of the works of Shakespeare."

"So am I! What's your favorite? Mine is The Merchant of Venice."

"I like that one, but my favorite has to be Romeo and Juliet. I'm a sucker for a love story."

Collins couldn't help smiling at the two of them. He was happy that Connor was happy. The boy deserved some form of joy in his life. It suddenly occurred to him that he was in the perfect place to get information about Connor's headaches. He was convinced that there had to be something mentally wrong with his student. He stood up and put his crutches underneath his arms.

"Where are you going, Professor?" Connor asked him.

"I'm just going to find a restroom," Collins replied. Connor nodded and went back to asking Carrie questions about her life. Collins wandered around the hospital, taking time to look at the framed pictures and certificates that hung in the hallways. He was reading a degree that belonged to a Dr. Ernie Fletcher when he was approached by a man.

"Checking to make sure I'm really a doctor?" the man asked, startling Collins. The professor quickly turned to him.

"Are you Dr. Fletcher?" Collins asked.

"I am. Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually, you can." Dr. Fletcher waited for Collins to gather his thoughts and continue. "I know a kid and he gets headaches every once in a while. Sometimes they're mild and sometimes they're severe, but he gets them whenever he's afraid or upset about something. He's been checked out by a doctor at a hospital, but he didn't find anything wrong with him. It's very odd. Do you think the headaches could be caused by a mental problem?"

"That _is _odd. Does anything else happen when he has the headaches?"

"He doesn't remember some things."

"Care to elaborate?"

"He got a headache earlier today and then hours later he didn't remember what he did right after he got it. Also, his personality changed drastically and he called himself Albert, which isn't his name." Dr. Fletcher placed a hand on his chin.

"Has this boy suffered a traumatic experience?"

"Yes."

"Has he endured any repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse?"

"All three."

"Oh my God . . . all _three?" _Collins nodded. "Well, all of those symptoms point to Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"'Dissociative Identity Disorder?'"

"Yes, it's also known as Multiple Personality Disorder. The boy's mind probably tried to block out the memories of the abuse and that caused his brain to split into two personalities. His normal self and the 'Albert' personality."

"He's got a split personality?"

"I wouldn't know that for sure. This is just my professional opinion. I can only diagnose him properly if you get him to come see me."

Collins nodded and started heading back to the room he came from. When he reached it, he noticed Connor had left and his mother was sitting alone. He instantly became worried that something had happened. As he got closer to Carrie, he saw that she didn't look upset.

"Where did Connor go?" he asked her, sitting down in the chair he had been sitting in.

"Someone called him on his phone," Carrie explained. "He'll be back." Collins nodded and Carrie stared at him. "Can I be honest with you, Mr. Collins?"

"Sure."

"I knew who you were the second I looked up at you." Collins' eyes widened.

"How?"

"I watch the news." Collins' pulse quickened. "My son . . . didn't kidnap you, did he?"

"No, Miss Bennett, he didn't. He actually saved my life."

"How so?"

"Your sister tried to kill me. She hit me with a car."

"That explains the broken leg."

"Right. Connor saw her hit me and he came to my rescue. This kidnapping thing is a big misunderstanding." Collins saw the relief on Carrie's face as she nodded. He wasn't exactly sure if he believed his own words. Sure, Connor had saved his life, but he wouldn't let him call Angel to let her know he was all right. Before he could voice this to Carrie, Connor returned to the room. He looked troubled.

"Connor, are you okay?" Carrie asked, her voice laced with concern.

"It's a quarter until ten," the boy replied. "We have to leave now."

"Oh, now don't be sad. There's no visitation tomorrow, but you can come back on Monday. And you can come earlier, so we'll have more time together. How does that sound?"

"I'd like that." Connor smiled at his mother as she stood up to hug him. Collins could tell that the smile was forced.

"I love you, Connor," Carrie told her son. Hearing those words made Connor's heart skip a beat.

"I love you, too, Mom."

The ride back to the cottage seemed to be twice as quiet as the ride to the hospital. Collins kept stealing glances at Connor as Dr. Fletcher's words ran through his mind. He wasn't sure if he should tell him what the doctor had said. The boy was already upset enough about something. Collins decided he would wait a little while before bring it up. Connor parked the car on the side of the cottage and helped Collins out and up the porch steps. He opened the door, turned the living room lights on, let Collins get inside, and shut the door.

"I'll take you back to New York in the morning, Professor," he promised. Collins smiled a bit, but his smile faded when he noticed that Connor was on the verge of tears.

"Connor, what's bothering you?" Collins asked as his student sat down on the couch.

"The doctor called me with my results. He said he can't find any physical evidence that there's something wrong with me. He said he thinks it could be . . . psychosomatic."

"And it scares you?"

"Yes, especially now that I know my mom is . . . people already think I'm weird. They'll treat me like a nutcase if I have a mental illness."

"I won't. I'll still care about you, mental illness or not."

"Thank you, Professor." Collins smiled at his student. "Would you like some soup now?"

"No, I think I'm just going to go to bed." Connor nodded and watched Collins exit the living room.

Once he was in the guest room and lying in bed, Collins looked over at the bedside table. The medical bag was gone, but he could still see it clearly. He looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to push the thought of morphine out of his mind. He pictured the small bottle floating above him. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths and tried to convince himself that he didn't need the drug. He lied there and faded in and out of consciousness for about two hours before his urges started getting the best of him.

He sighed heavily and got out of bed, telling himself he would kick this habit before he got back to Angel. He decided to get a glass of water and then try to go to sleep again. As he made it into the hallway, he noticed the lights in the living room were still on. He headed toward the living room to check on his student. His mouth dropped open when he stepped into the room.

Connor was sitting on the floor in front of the armchair with his hands bound in front of him and duct tape over his mouth. His head was down.

"Connor!" Collins exclaimed, making his way over to the boy as fast as he could. Connor looked up. His face was tearstained. Collins leaned his crutches against the chair and took the tape off of Connor's mouth. "Who did this to you?"

"You have to get out of here, Professor," Connor told him. Collins ignored his words and began trying to untie the knot in the rope that was tied around his wrists. "Please, just go! You have to save yourself!"

"I'm _not _leaving you here. Who did this?" Connor fell silent and looked toward the doorway of the living room. Collins suddenly felt a gun pressed to his back.

"Step away from the boy," a female voice said.

**How's **_**that **_**for a cliffhanger?**

**Review please.**


	17. Chapter 17

**My stress level was dangerously high for a while and my professors thought it would be nice to make everything worth over 100 points due on the same day. That is my excuse for not updating. Also, I'm currently working on some other updates, so be on the look out for those if you read any of my other stories.**

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins had only met Anna Gibson once during Connor's years at NYU, but he remembered her very well. She was much nicer then, or at least that's how she portrayed herself. Connor watched helplessly as his aunt tied his professor's hands together. She had come like a thief in the night while the two of them were visiting Carrie. Connor was reading a book on psychology when she entered the living room and told him to keep quiet. He couldn't have screamed even if he had tried. His vocal cords seemed to be paralyzed.

"I knew you would take him somewhere so you could be alone with him," Anna said to Connor in disgust. She finished binding Collins' hands and looked at the boy. Connor looked down at the carpet to avoid Anna's scowl.

"I only brought him here because you were going to kill him," he replied. He spoke in the softest voice Collins had ever heard. The professor barely heard what he said.

"It's what has to be done. It's what God wants."

"How the hell do _you _know what God wants?" Collins asked. Anna's attention snapped from Connor to him. He matched her scowl, aiming to show her that he wasn't threatened by her in any way.

"You do not speak unless you're spoken to. Do I make myself clear?"

"There are only two women in my life that I take any type of order from. Those women are my baby girl, Angel, and my mamma. You, Mrs. Gibson, are neither Angel _or _my mamma. Therefore, you just wasted air by telling me that."

"Is that so?" Anna's scowl grew fiercer. She picked her gun up off of the coffee table and aimed it at Collins.

"You may be a psychotic, sociopathic, homophobic bitch, but you don't scare or intimidate me." Connor looked up at Collins in shock. He had never heard anyone talk to his aunt so fearlessly. Anna's eyes widened and she slowly lowered her gun. Collins started to say something else when the back of Anna's hand made contact with his face.

"Don't hurt him, Aunt Anna!" Connor shouted. Anna turned to him.

"Shut it!" she demanded. She then turned back to Collins without waiting for a response. "Don't you _dare _talk to me that way! I _am not _psychotic _or _sociopathic!"

"In what universe is abusing a child who you're supposed to love by constantly beating him, putting him down, and allowing a registered sex offender to molest him _not _psychotic and sociopathic?"

"Any and every thing that has happened to Connor in his life was God's will."

"Bull. Shit."

"If it wasn't His will, it wouldn't have happened. You, Mr. Collins, are obviously . . ." Anna trailed off and turned to face Connor. The boy stared up at her from his position on the floor in fear. "Did you call me . . . 'Aunt Anna?'" Connor gasped softly and his heartbeat quickened.

"N-No," he lied. Anna placed her gun on the television stand and stepped toward Connor.

"Who told you about her?" Connor remained silent and was struck across the face. "Tell me!"

"Nobody . . ." The boy was struck again. Tears formed in his eyes.

"Tell me the truth!" Anna grabbed hold of the back of Connor's neck as the tears in his eyes spilled over. "Was it that weakling husband of mine? Did _he _tell you about her?"

"No! Nobody told me anything! I figured it out on my own!"

"I don't believe you!" Anna slammed Connor's head against the coffee table, causing the boy's mouth to bleed. His tears fell faster as his head was slammed against the table twice more before Anna pushed him onto his side. He lied there, looking up at Collins, who was trying his best to get up from the couch.

"Professor . . . help me . . ." Connor sobbed. Blood was dripping from his mouth onto the carpet. Anna then kicked the boy in the stomach.

"Leave him alone!" Collins demanded.

"Tell the truth, Connor!" Anna shouted, ignoring Collins. Connor slowly sat upright and briefly made eye contact with his aunt, trying to stop himself from crying.

"Let Professor Collins go and I'll tell you," he said. Anna glanced at Collins before picking her gun up. She aimed it at the professor.

"Tell me or he will have to die without being saved."

"Don't kill him!" Anna cocked the gun and brought her finger to the trigger, keeping her attention on Connor. "Okay! Uncle Arthur told me her name and I looked her up! That's the truth! I swear!"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Anna lowered the gun. "Now, on your knees." Connor slowly pushed himself onto his knees. "Bow your head and pray for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for what?"

"Psalms 34:13." Connor looked down at the carpet. "Say it."

"'Keep your tongue from evil . . . and your lips from speaking lies.'"

"Don't ever lie, Connor. Especially to your mother."

"But . . . you're not-"

"I raised you!" Anna interrupted. "I _am _your mother! Pray for forgiveness!" Connor held back a sob, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "Out loud, Connor."

"Heavenly Father . . . I have sinned. I haven't honored my . . . my mother the way she should be honored. I come to you now . . . asking for your forgiveness . . . with a promise that I will forever obey and do right by her." Connor opened his eyes and slowly looked up. Anna was smirking at him.

"Amen," she said. Connor dropped his attention to the carpet. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Collins watched Anna leave the room as Connor used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the blood from his mouth. He looked at the blood on his sleeve and began sobbing. Collins stared at the boy, a sympathetic look in his eyes. If standing up without his crutches didn't cause him so much pain, he would have hit a woman for the first time in his life. He couldn't understand how Anna could believe that she wasn't doing and hadn't done anything wrong.

"Professor . . . since we probably won't make it out of here alive-"

"Don't say that," Collins interrupted.

"I know what she's capable of," Connor reminded his professor. The boy looked up at him. "She's _not _going to let us go and before we die, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I . . . was planning to have something bad happen to you."

"Why?"

"So I could save your life and . . . you'd fall in love with me." Collins sighed heavily. "I know you said all I'll ever be is your student, but I thought I could change your mind if I saved you. I _need _your love, Professor."

"No, you don't. You just think you do." Connor looked back down at the carpet. "One day, you're going to meet someone who will love and cherish you, but that someone _will not _be me. I have a great deal of love for you, Connor, but I'm not _in love _with you, okay? Someone _will _come along though."

"I wish that was true."

"It _is _true."

"She's going to kill us. I can't meet anyone if I'm dead." Connor looked up at Collins as he began trying to untie the rope around his wrists with his teeth. "That won't work, Professor. Believe me, I've tried it before." Collins' eyes widened and he stopped biting at the knot in the rope that bound his hands together.

"She's tied you up before?" he asked. Connor nodded sadly. "Well . . . what would Albert do in this situation?"

"Albert isn't real. He was a figment of my childish imagination."

"Did you ever think he could be _more _than that?"

"No. He was my imaginary friend. That's all."

"Maybe he was what you wanted to be."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Maybe you created Albert because you wished his personality was _your _personality. You wanted to be brave and confident, so you created an imaginary friend who had those characteristics. In a way, Albert is _you. _A part of you, at least."

"Okay, let's say Albert _is _a part of me. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You could search inside yourself, find that confidence, and stand up to your aunt."

"Even if I _could _do that, it wouldn't be very affective."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . Albert was afraid of her, too." Collins frowned. "I'm sorry, Professor. There's nothing I want to do more than to get you to safety, but . . . I just can't. I'm sorry."

"Wait . . . the phone in the guest room."

"What about it?"

"We can use it to call for help."

"You said the line was cut."

"I can rewire it."

"You . . . you can?"

"Yes. I mean, if I can rewire an ATM, a phone shouldn't be that hard."

"Why did you rewire an ATM?" Collins froze and stared at his student.

"No reason that's important. What's important is I can fix the phone, call my friends, and they'll come save us."

"Aunt Anna won't let you out of her sight for very long."

"That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"I need you to distract her." Connor's eyes widened. "Just for a little while. I need time to fix the phone and make the call."

"I can't do that, Professor."

"Yes, you can."

"She'll be suspicious."

"Only if you _act _suspicious." Connor shook his head. "Listen to me, I know you're afraid. I know that, but you have to try. I promise I won't be that long. Once I've called for help, I'll be right back here and I will protect you. I won't let her hurt you anymore, okay?" Collins waited for the boy to respond.

"What should I do?" he asked.

"Anything you can think of. Say some scriptures or something."

"After I came out, she locked me in my room and wouldn't let me out until I read the bible from cover to cover. I can recite it."

"The _entire _bible?" Connor nodded. "Good. Do that."

There were a few seconds of silence before Anna returned carrying a small, black bag. She placed it on the table and put her gun next to it. Collins and Connor watched as she went through the bag, humming the melody of a hymn as she did.

"Could you untie me for a moment?" Collins asked. Anna looked at him and her eyes narrowed.

"No," she replied.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Fine." Anna walked toward Collins. "I will take you to the bathroom, but I'm not untying you."

"Then you're going to have to come in with me."

"I will do no such thing."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but men use the bathroom differently than women. We have to aim. And since you're not going to untie me, you're going to have to aim for me." Anna sighed and untied Collins' hands before giving him his crutches. "Thank you."

"Let's go." As he and Anna started to leave the room, Collins gave Connor a look, to which the boy nodded.

"'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,'" he recited. Anna stopped walking and turned to face him. "'Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.'" Noticing that Anna was staring at him, Connor looked down at his hands.

"Keep going," Anna told him. The boy looked up as his aunt walked over to him.

"'And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light,'" he continued. "'God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.'"

Collins slipped from the room as smoothly as he could on crutches while Anna was paying attention to Connor. Once he was inside the guest room, he gently closed the door behind him. He then made his way to the bed, sat down, and opened the drawer of the bedside table in search of something he could use as a makeshift tool. The first thing he saw was the medical bag. After looking over his shoulder to make sure the door was still closed, he took the bag out of the drawer and unzipped it.

The bottle of morphine was right on top. He took it out and searched the bag, finding another bottle. He placed the bag next to him and stared at the bottles in his hand. Looking over his should again, he slipped them into his pocket before continuing his search through the drawer so he could get to work.

* * *

><p>"I still can't get an answer," Angel said, hanging up Baker's phone. After the female detective called Ed to get the address of Connor's safe house, he gave her the phone number to the house as well. She then gave her phone to Angel and the drag queen had been trying to get in touch with either Connor or Collins since.<p>

"Wait a few minutes and then try again," Sanders told her. Angel was already re-dialing the number. "The cottage isn't that far from the police station. When do you think we should call?"

"When we're closer than we are," Baker replied. She kept her eyes on the road as she spoke. "They won't know enough about what's going on and we can't have them just sitting there waiting for us."

"It's not even ringing!" Angel shouted, hanging up again.

"Chica, just wait a little while before trying again, okay?" Mimi said. She took the phone away from her friend.

"I _can't _wait. I need to know that he's okay." Angel took the phone back and dialed the number again. She put it to her ear and, this time, she got through. "Oh my God! It's ringing!" The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

"_Hello?" _Angel felt a wave of relief come over her. She was ecstatic to hear her boyfriend's voice.

"Collins!" she exclaimed. "Honey, it's me. Are you okay?"

"_Oh, thank God. Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, Connor brought me to his safe house and his mom is really his aunt and-"_

"We know what's going on," Angel interrupted. "And according to her husband, she's trying to kill you."

"_I know. She's here right now."_

"She is?"

"_Yes. She's holding us hostage and she's got a gun and a bag. I don't know what's in it, but I doubt it's anything good."_

"Honey, we're on our way to you right now, okay?"

"_You have to hurry. She's deranged and . . ."_ Angel waited for Collins to finish his sentence, but he never did. She could hear a woman's voice followed by a cry of pain she was sure came from her lover.

"Collins?" she said. "Collins, are you there?"

"_Who is this?" _the woman's voice came. Angel's heart sank.

"Is this Anna Gibson?"

"_Yes it is. Who is this?"_

"My name is Angel and the man you're holding captive is my boyfriend."

"_I'm saving his soul. He's not a captive."_

"Let him go, Mrs. Gibson."

"_I have to save him. It's what God told me to do."_

"I'm with the police right now and we're on our way to you. It would only benefit you to let Collins and Connor go."

"_Angel, was it?"_

"Yes."

"_Angel, I know you don't understand this, but I'm doing the Lord's work and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't interfere." _That was the last thing Angel heard before a dial tone. She took the phone away from her ear and looked at it.

"What did she say?" Mimi asked. Angel said nothing and kept her attention on the phone. She then quickly dialed the number again. It didn't ring.

"Detective Baker, you need to drive faster," she said. Baker didn't ask questions or protest as she sped up and turned the car's siren on.

**Review please.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A lot going on in this chapter. Yeah.**

**I own nothing except the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

"Ed is waiting for us with the chief and some squad cars," Sanders informed Baker as he hung up his mobile phone. She nodded and pressed the gas pedal further to the floor. Angel and Mimi were quiet in the backseat. It had been a little over three hours since Angel had contacted Collins. The drag queen was still holding Baker's phone, contemplating whether or not she should try calling again. Mimi was holding her other hand, occasionally giving it a small squeeze. Fifteen minutes passed before they saw the flashing lights of the four squad cars that were waiting for them. Ed, who was speaking to the chief, Arthur, and the other bohemians were standing in the middle of the road. Angel and Mimi lept out of the car and ran to their friends.

"Angel talked to Collins," Mimi told them.

"Is he okay?" Maureen asked.

"He said he is, but I don't know how much longer that will be true," Angel replied. Baker and Sanders walked to Ed.

"Chief Michaels, this is Detective Baker and Detective Sanders," Ed introduced them. Both detectives shook the chief's hand. The bohemians and Arthur watched. "I was explaining the hostage situation we have."

"Of all the hostage situations I've seen, this is the first time I've known a woman to be the captor instead of the captive," Chief Michaels said.

"It happens," Sanders commented.

"I'm going to assume she has a weapon."

"She does. A gun."

"She may have more than a gun though," Baker added. "Tom Collins' girlfriend talked to him for a short while and, according to him, Mrs. Gibson has a bag. He doesn't know what's inside of it."

"And she's got two hostages?"

"That's correct," Ed said. "Her nephew, Connor, and his philosophy professor, Tom Collins." Chief Michaels looked to the seven civilians.

"Which one of you is the girlfriend?" he asked. Angel stepped forward. "Did your boyfriend say anything about this woman being dangerous?"

"He said she was deranged," Angel replied. Chief Michaels nodded and looked to Arthur and the rest of the bohemians.

"Who are all of you?"

"Arthur Gibson, Mrs. Gibson's husband and Connor's uncle, and friends of Tom Collins," Baker explained.

"You brought them with you?"

"They insisted on coming."

"And they're relentless," Ed added.

"So, what's the plan?" Sanders asked.

"I say we try to bring her out as peacefully as possible. Being cornered by the police isn't exactly the most relaxing thing on the planet and we don't know how she'll react."

"And if that doesn't work?" Chief Michaels asked.

"I don't even want to think about that."

"You're not the only one," Baker stated.

"I'll call for a couple cars to take you all to the station," Chief Michaels told the bohemians and Arthur. "You can wait there until this thing is over."

"Like hell we will!" Maureen shouted, stepping toward the chief. Joanne pulled her back. "If we wanted to sit in a police station and wait for someone to tell us whether or not Collins and Connor are alive, we would have just stayed in New York!"

"Maureen, calm down," Joanne told her girlfriend.

"You can't go up there," the chief said. "It could be dangerous and-"

"We know that, but we need to be with you," Mimi interrupted. "They're going to ask about us the second you get them out of there. Let us stay." Chief Michaels looked at the seven pairs of hopeful eyes.

"Please, Connor is my nephew," Arthur said.

"And we're Collins' family," Angel added. "Let us be here for them." The chief looked to Ed, Baker, and Sanders for help.

"I told you, they're relentless," Ed told him. Chief Michaels sighed heavily.

"Fine, but you have to stay where you're told to, got it?" he said. Six of the bohemians nodded, but Arthur and Angel couldn't make that promise. "All right, let's head up there. Everybody, back in your cars."

* * *

><p>Collins sat on the floor next to the bedside table, his crutches on the floor too far away for him to reach. His right side was throbbing with pain, as was his head, and he couldn't move his broken leg even a little. While he watched Anna hurt Connor in the living room, he had wished she was harming him instead of his student. After she had caught him talking to Angel, he got his wish. He had no idea what had happened or was happening to Connor as he was being beaten with one of his crutches, but he didn't like that it was quiet all of a sudden. Reaching to his right, he tried his best to grab at least one crutch to get himself to his feet. The sharp pain that shot through his body caused him to pull his arm back.<p>

"Professor!" Connor exclaimed. He threw his phone, which was in his hand, onto the bed before rushing to Collins and kneeling in front of him. The boy had changed clothes again. He was wearing all white now, his hair had been combed, and there was a sweet aroma coming off of him. "She hurt you . . ."

"She used the crutches," Collins said softly. Connor tried to help the professor up, causing him to cry out in pain. It was when Connor released him that Collins noticed his hands were free. "She untied you? I get why she didn't tie _me _back up, I can't even stand up without an aide, but why did she untie _you?"_

"She knows I won't go anywhere as long as you're here."

"You changed . . . and you smell like . . . like honey."

"It's honey-scented soap. She made me take a bath and then put these clothes on."

"Why?"

"She said I have to be pure." Connor stared at Collins. Knowing that Anna had caused his professor so much pain made him want to cry. "I couldn't distract her long enough. I'm sorry, Professor."

"I'm fine, Connor." Collins' words were only half true.

"This is all my fault . . . I'm sorry . . . I'm _so _sorry . . ." Connor looked down at the floor. Collins lifted his head.

"It's _not_ your fault," he told the boy. "She probably would have done this anyway. You couldn't have stopped it, so don't blame yourself for it. Do you understand me?" Connor nodded, still silently feeling guilty. "I talked to Angel. She and the rest of my friends are with the police. They're on their way here."

"Really?"

"Yes. They're coming to save us. They should be here soon since I called a few hours ago."

"Three hours and thirteen minutes." Collins nodded and attempted to move his leg as Connor glanced over his shoulder at the door. "I went through her bag."

"What's in it?" Collins asked.

"I found more rope, holy water, a bible, and a crucifix." Collins furrowed his brow. "Professor, I think she may be planning . . . an exorcism."

"What?" At that moment, Anna appeared in the doorway. She stood there for a short while and stared at her nephew and his professor.

"Connor, I thought I told you to stay in the other room," she said, walking toward them. Connor stood up and faced her. Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she smiled at him. "You look so clean . . . so pure." Moving him out of the way, she glared at Collins. "This is not a police matter. Why would you bring them into this?"

"Because you're insane," Collins replied. Anna stepped toward Collins, her hand raised, as Connor's phone rang. She looked at it, then at Connor, then at her watch.

"It's four in the morning," she stated. "Who would be calling you at this time?" She picked the phone up off the bed and answered it. Collins and Connor watched her as she spoke. "Yes?"

"_Anna Gibson?" _Ed's voice came.

"Yes, who is this?"

"_Detective Ed Green, I'm with the New York Police Department. We know you have two hostages and we have you surrounded. The only option you have right now is to come out with your hands up."_

"Surrounded? Detective, I've already explained this. Who told you people that they're hostages? Was it my sister? She's not well, you know." Hearing Anna mention his mother, Connor slowly took a step toward her.

"_Mrs. Gibson-"_

"She's just jealous because I raised a son while she sat in a hospital," Anna continued. "She's _always _been after everything I have, even when we were kids. That'll stop tonight though."

"What do you mean by that?" Connor asked. Anna didn't bother acknowledging that he had said anything.

"Detective Green, it's been lovely talking with you, but I have to get to work now," she said into the phone. Connor suddenly bolted from the room, quickly making his way through the living room to the front door. He threw it open and got to the top step of the porch before Anna grabbed him and held her gun to his head. Connor shielded his eyes from the flashing lights of the cars as every police officer aimed their weapons at Anna.

"Mrs. Gibson, let him go!" Ed demanded. Anna said nothing and began pulling Connor back toward the house. The boy did his best to resist and tried to break free from her grip.

"My mom!" he shouted. "Send someone to protect her! She lives in Lavender Meadows Mental Hospital! You have to keep her safe! Please!" He was then pulled into the living room and watched Anna slam the door before slowly turning to face him. He looked as if was going to cry. His aunt forced him to turn around and pressed the gun to his back. Silently, they walked back to the guest room. Collins sighed in disappointment upon seeing them. He was hoping Connor had escaped. Anna lowered her gun to her side and glared at the back of Connor's head. As soon as the boy turned to her, she hit him with so much force, she knocked him to the floor.

"Hey, what the hell is wrong with you?" Collins asked angrily. Anna ignored him and looked down at Connor.

"What happened to honoring and doing right by your mother, Connor?" she asked, tossing her gun onto the bed. Connor slowly sat upright, one hand clutching his forehead. His eyes were closed tightly. "I'm talking to you." Connor brought his other hand to his head and began rubbing his temples. "What is wrong with you?"

"It's my head," Connor replied. "I have . . . pain killers in my room. Can I go get one?"

"No."

"Please . . . it hurts . . ."

"I said, no!"

"Let the boy get something," Collins told Anna. "He's in pain!"

"And he will have to suffer through it. I'm going to go get my bag and I'll be back." Anna then left the room. Collins watched as Connor cringed and whimpered. Just as he was about to reach out to his student, he took his hands away from his head. His eyes remained closed.

"Connor?" Collins said. Connor didn't move. "Albert?" The boy's eyes snapped open and he looked at Collins. He seemed to be studying the professor.

"She's here, isn't she?" he asked. Collins nodded. "And she did that to you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was trying to protect Connor. Get him to safety."

"You took a beating for him? Maybe you're not like everyone else after all." Connor looked at the gun on the bed and then toward the door. "Where is she now?"

"Getting her bag. Connor thinks she might be planning an exorcism."

"I wouldn't put it past her." The boy looked back at Collins. "You _do _realize the only way to stop her from hurting Connor is to kill her, don't you?"

"Why can't _you _do that?"

"Someone has to get to her. You know, get inside her head. I know exactly how to piss her off. All you have to do is get the gun."

"I . . . I've never shot a gun before in my entire life. And I _do not _want to kill anyone."

"We have to save Connor. You don't have to kill her. Just give her a flesh wound or something. I'll distract her."

"Connor said you're afraid of her."

"I am, stop reminding me or I'll back out."A few moments passed before Anna returned to the room. She sat her bag on the bed and opened it just as Connor's phone rang again. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up and answered it.

"I am in the middle of something," she said. "And I would appreciate it if you would stop interrupting me, Detective. Thank you." She hung up the phone without waiting for a response. "I just don't get it. How can anyone want to stop a person from showing a sinner the light of God?"

"You're the only sinner I see here," Connor said.

"Excuse me?" Anna put her hands on her hips and walked toward Connor.

"You're not perfect. Just because you think you're doing what God told you to, doesn't mean you're a saint. You are the _epitome _of sin."

"You shut your mouth!"

"You do whatever you want and then claim it to be God's will for you to do so."

"I am saving helpless souls!"

"Projecting your views of the typical sinner onto someone else and then punishing them doesn't make you a savior!"

"Shut up!" Anna put her hands over her ears and paced back and forth for a short while. "You don't know what you're talking about! I'm doing nothing wrong! I'm helping people! I'm forcing the devil to vacate their bodies!"

"You're perverting God and the bible to justify the actions of your rage! If _anyone _has the devil inside them, it's _you!" _Anna's mouth dropped open. Collins felt like he could literally see the anger boiling inside of her. She practically ran toward Connor and punched him square in the face, causing him to fall backwards. He blinked a few times and Collins knew that he was no longer Albert. Before he could say anything to his student, Anna pulled the boy into an upright position by his hair.

"You have no right to talk to me that way!" she shouted. She then began dragging him across the room.

"Aunt Anna, please stop!" he begged, trying to pry her hand off of his hair. She took a pocket knife from her bag.

"Don't hurt him!" Collins pleaded. "I told him to say those things! They're _my _words! Not his!"

Anna stared at the professor and released Connor. She charged at Collins, knife in hand, and pounced on him, ready to slit his throat. Being a bit weaker than usual, Collins had to fight harder than he normally would to keep the blade of the knife away from him. During the struggle, the bed was bumped several times, causing the gun to fall onto the floor. Collins heard the gun fall and used all of his strength to push Anna a good distance away from him, giving him enough time to grab it, ignoring all of the pain he was putting himself through to do so. He turned to see Anna on her feet and charging at him again. Without giving it a second thought, he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed as Anna dropped the knife, fell to her knees, and then finally forward.

**Review please.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Last chapter, yo! Thank you to all who have read this story! I love you all! All of you! Side note: SmileYou'reWICKED, your prediction way back in your review for chapter eight was absolutely right. **

**I own nothing but the plot line and a few OCs. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Connor stared at the white walls of his new room from the doorway. It had been four months since his aunt's funeral and one week since he'd had his first session with Dr. Fletcher. There were a lot of tears and even more mixed emotions during the funeral. Connor didn't cry, as he predicted, but he did feel a tinge of sadness. Anna was his mother's sister and his uncle's wife and they both loved her. He felt bad because they lost someone dear to them, but, at the same time, he was relieved that he no longer had to deal with the abuse.

What really upset him was his session with Dr. Fletcher. He had talked about losing his aunt and all she had put him through. He wasn't sure what happened after Dr. Fletcher asked him about what had happened to him at age twelve. His head throbbed with pain and the next thing he remembered was watching Dr. Fletcher pick himself up off of the floor while two nurses were holding him back.

The boy slowly walked into the room. A few of his books and clothes had been brought in from New York, but the room was mostly bare. He sat down on the bed and looked down at his hands. He didn't know how to process the fact that he had been admitted to a mental hospital.

"You look so sad," he heard his mother say. He looked up as she walked into the room. She sat down next to him and the two sat in silence for a long moment.

"I . . . I attacked Dr. Fletcher," Connor told Carrie. He looked back down at his hands. "I have . . . absolutely _no _recollection of doing it."

"Then how do you know you did it?"

"He had the session video taped." The boy wrapped his arms around himself. "He diagnosed me with Dissociative Identity Disorder. I read about it before. I think I sort of . . . knew I had it."

"You just didn't want to believe it." Connor looked up at his mother. "That's how I was."

"Do you ever worry about . . . being able to be a part of normal society again?" Carrie took Connor's hand in hers.

"I used to worry about everything. I mostly worried about what people who knew me would think after they found out. I won't lie to you, Connor, it _is_ difficult to adjust to everything at first, but it all gets easier with time."

A nurse then entered the room carrying freshly washed bed sheets. She placed them on the dresser across from the bed before quickly leaving as not to interrupt the conversation. Connor and Carrie sat in silence for a short while.

"Mom?" the boy said.

"Yes?" Carrie replied.

"Who's my dad?" Connor felt his mother stiffen, but pretended not to notice as he awaited her answer. After two minutes, she let go of his hand. She stood up, walked to the window, and stared out at the sky. Connor continued to wait patiently for his mother to respond.

"Because I love you . . . I am not going to talk to you about your father," she said. "At least not yet."

"Why not?" the boy inquired. Carrie turned to him.

"I don't think you're ready to hear about him."

"So, you expect me to wait fifteen years to meet him like I did with you?" Carrie scowled at him. "I don't mean to disrespect you, Mom, but he's my father and I have the right to know who he is."

"Connor, trust me, you _do not _want to go down this road. Leave it alone."

"I can't. My curious nature won't allow that." Carrie walked back toward the bed. She was still scowling. Connor instinctively looked down at his hands.

"Connor Allen Bennett, you listen to me." Connor kept his attention on his hands as Carrie sat down next to him. She lifted his head and he looked at her. Her scowl was gone. "I know you want to know about your father, but I'm telling you it's not a good time."

"When will a good time be?"

"I'm not sure." Connor shifted on the bed. "I want you to promise me you won't take it upon yourself to find out who he is." The boy was silent. "Connor, I'm only trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"Promise me." Connor sighed and nodded. "A promise doesn't count unless you say it out loud."

"I promise." Carrie smiled, took hold of Connor's hand, and kissed his forehead.

* * *

><p>The bohemians were talking, laughing, and drinking at the loft. Collins' leg and various other wounds had healed and he was able to finish the semester, but his mind wasn't functioning as well as it could. No matter what he did, he was constantly thinking of Anna. There were no charges against him since he shot her to defend himself, but the fact of the matter was that he killed someone. He took the life of another human being. He hadn't meant to, it just happened. Angel could tell there was something wrong with him and she had asked him about it a couple of times. He would tell her he was having a bad day and leave it at that.<p>

Looking around at his friends to make sure they weren't paying him too much attention, Collins slipped his hand into his front pocket. His fingers made contact with the bottles of morphine he had taken from Connor's safe house and the syringe he had stolen from the hospital he was taken to after being reunited with Angel and his friends. The drug was the only thing helping him deal with knowledge that he shot and killed Anna. It kept him sane.

"You okay, Collins?" Roger asked. Collins quickly took his hand out of his pocket and looked to his friend.

"Yeah, man," he replied. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a little out of it." Collins said nothing and took a sip of his beer. "Hello?"

"I said, I'm fine."

"You don't _look _fine. You haven't for a while actually. I mean, ever since-"

"I'm fucking _fine, _Roger!" Collins snapped. "Just drop it!" Everyone looked to him. Angel placed a hand on his leg.

"He was just asking you if you're okay, Collins," Mark pointed out. "Chill out."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Collins got up from his spot on the couch and walked toward the bathroom. Maureen ran and stood in front of him. "Get out of my way."

"What's going on with you?" she asked. Collins just stared at her, so she continued. "We've been friends for years. I've seen you at your best and I've seen you at your worst, but I've _never _seen you like this."

"Move, Maureen."

"Collins, this isn't you at all. You've been distant, you don't make your usual jokes. What's going on?" Collins looked away from her and his mind drifted to the contents of his pocket. "Talk to me. Talking about it will help and-"

"Shut up," Collins interrupted. His voice wasn't very loud, but it _was_ angry. Everyone stared at him in slight shock. "Is it a fucking crime for me to have a bad day and _not _want to talk about it?" No one said anything. Collins shoved Maureen out of his way and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

He ran cold water into the sink and splashed it on his face. After drying his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he looked at himself in the dirty, cracked mirror. He breathed deeply before reaching into his pocket. Placing the syringe on the sink, he stared at the bottles in his hand. One of them was lighter than the other. It was almost empty. He picked the syringe up with his free hand and froze. He couldn't do this in the loft. He'd made it a rule that he wouldn't take the drug at his and Angel's apartment or the loft. He closed his eyes and immediately saw Anna's body falling to the ground. His eyes snapped open and landed on the bottles. He needed the drug. He couldn't deny it.

The bathroom door suddenly swung open. Angel and Roger were standing in the doorway. Collins looked at them as they took notice of the syringe and bottles.

"Collins . . ." Angel said softly. Roger took a step toward Collins and took the bottles out of his hand as the rest of the bohemians gathered behind them.

"Morphine?" Roger said. "You're taking morphine?"

Everyone stared at Collins and waited for an explanation. The professor looked down in shame. He wished he could explain himself, but he couldn't find the words. Slowly, he looked up at Angel. His eyes were pleading for help. As he looked at the rest of his friends, he dropped the syringe. A tear streamed down his cheek. It wasn't long before his head was down and he was sobbing. Angel lifted his head and pulled him into a hug. He laid his head on her shoulder and continued to cry as she gently rubbed his back.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," she whispered to him. "We're going to help you through this."

**Review please.**

**There will be a sequel coming at you soon because I couldn't possibly fit everything into one story. It'll probably be up next weekend. The title will be **_**The Soul's Revenge **_**(I cannot claim the title, it's not mine, I didn't come up with it, and all that jazz). Be on the lookout for that. It will be complete and utter madness, just to give you a fair warning.**


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